Forged in Dragonfire
by HeavenHellanime
Summary: I go to bed, covered in warm furs in Nchuand-Zel, with my cousin in the next cot over and my mother yelling obscenities. I wake up on a cold, cold stone slab, all alone and very confused. /Or:/ The result of an idea I just couldn't let go, in which the Dragonborn is part of a race considered as extinct as dragons. (M/M pairings present)
1. Sleeping Beauty?

**Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim, All rights except the ones for my OC Dovahkiin go to Bethesda. I'll not repeat this every chapter – ALL RIGHTS GO TO BETHESDA, EXCEPT MY OC'S.**

 **So, I've started playing Skyrim again after quite some time. Then, whilst exploring Nchuand-Zel, this little idea popped up. Then I found out nobody has ever tried something similar even though the archives and fanfiction sites are quite full of fanfictions. Therefore, I had to try this. I hope you enjoy, and I'll accept any constructive criticism not along the lines of 'burn this garbage'.**

 **That said, Fjaldi, Mellte, Saarimda, Uncle, and any other OC's are mine. You may use them, as long as you ask nicely first.**

 **Also, MANY LIBERTIES ARE TAKEN WHEN IT COMES TO LORE AND ACCURACY! I REPEAT, MANY LIBERTIES ARE TAKEN! I do not know all there is to know, and not even wiki can help me enough – if I make mistakes, feel free to mention them, but try and consider them artistic liberty, this is fan-fiction, after all, and not official lore.**

 **NOTE:** After this chapter, **Dwemeris** will be in **bold.**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Chapter One – Sleeping Beauty?

There's something that can be said about the comfort and familiarity of nightly rituals.

But, for the love of all that is logical, I wish that my mother and uncle wouldn't repeat the same things over and over every night when they think their children are fast asleep.

 _How could anyone sleep through all that screaming?_

" _I say HOW DARE THEY? The Snowmer are KIN, elvish Kin! How could they betray them?! How could our people stab their backs like dishonourable scum! It is betrayal, I say, betrayal!"_ The words are called loud enough to be heard clearly, if dulled, through even a solid metal set of doors.

I roll over, trying to get more comfortable as well as unsuccessfully block out the screaming of my mother. My eyes catch those of my cousin in the next bed over, and he raises an eyebrow with a wry grin. I roll my eyes with a huff, even as we both keep listening intently to the unfolding argument.

" _They should not have attacked the Men, my dear sister. They were too arrogant. And still are!"_ He tries to placate her, agreeing with the treatment of the Fallen Mer residing deeper in the city, in the mines and barracks since there aren't enough rooms to house them in – or so we were told.

Actually, the Elder council has given order to poison our elvish kin, to feed them fungus to blind them, and enslave them so our workers no longer need to work in the mines. It's not fair to them. Not fair at all. I've always been proud to call myself part of the Dwemer race… But this? This is a crime I cannot condone, not that I can do much about it. I don't have to be an adult in order to realize that poisoning those that sought only sanctuary is wrong.

" _Saarimda! Are you saying it is our people who need to perish in the mines?_ " My uncle yells, and she, of course, has an answer at the ready: " _Are_ you _saying that they do not have rights because they are Surface Dwellers?"_

My cousin groans softly, rolling onto his back before sitting up, rubbing his sapphire eyes with the back of his hand, his pale skin gleaming in the blue light coming from the always-burning generator, and I imagine I look much the same, only my eyes are not jewel, but metal – a bright gold, like my father. "I don't suppose we'll be getting much rest tonight, Fjaldi dearest." He quips then, and I chuckle, our voices low as I, too, sit up to face him cross-legged on top of the furs.

"Indeed. They probably won't be getting much sleep, either."

Mellte buries his head in his hands. "Ugh, your mother is impossible when she runs on little sleep! That's it, pray to the gods, you'll be attending my funeral in less than twenty-four hours." Now it's my turn to give him a wry grin, even as I shrug my shoulder.

"Want me to hold a speech? You'll be sorely disappointed, I'm warning you." We share conspiratory smirks even as Mellte rummages around in his drawer to find his writing supplies. I, too, give up on sleeping for a bit, taking out a book on soul gems and their workings in enchanting equipment, making my cousin huff and wave around a piece of charcoal in my general direction as if chastising, shaking his head in disbelief. I find my thoughts drifting as I open the tome, the furs pooling at my waist as I settle in more comfortably.

It's quite warm in the room thanks to the steam pipes running through the walls. Luckily for us, my uncle is quite well-off and so we don't live near the actual mechanisms, which can be quite deafening when approached… I should know, there's an enormous array right next to the forges, and I pass it each day when on my way to my studies with my mentor. Mellte leaves with my mother for the Animunculi Operations Station – AOS for short, instead.

Mellte, who is like my brother, who helped me get over the untimely death of my father, who is my best friend in all the ways that matter, _who is currently occupied with throwing small objects at me since I've been spacing out again, apparently_.

I catch the next object with a scowl, flicking the offending bead back at his face.

"I can't believe you're studying." He grumbles petulantly.

A raised eyebrow is my only response as I resolutely turn away in silence, holding the book close to my face as if to make a point, though my playful smile gives me away to the well-trained eye of my cousin. He only sighs with all the weight of a veteran well-versed in the grievances of having a studious sibling.

"You're terrible." He groans, flopping back on his stone bed gracelessly. Unlike me, who got dragged through hell and back in weapon's training before my mother dared leave my birth city of Bthardamz behind, he's always lived in the lap of luxury.

 _Speaking of Bthardamz…_ I look at my nightstand, which holds only a lantern and my most precious possession – my father's amulet. A simple Dwemer metal chain with a golden oval pendant, bearing a carving of Xrib's anvil and holding a strong protective enchantment to keep the wearer from being affected by any fire or heat.

Xrib, the god of Creating. Perhaps the only god many Dwemer believed in - unlike surface races, Da had claimed. They had _many_ gods. The amulet was a gift from my father's father, a famous Forgemaster, to be given to da's firstborn in hopes of inspiring them to become a fine smith one day.

Perhaps he knew I would wear it with pride. _I suppose I'll never know_. _They're both dead_.

Mellte observes my staring and stands up to ruffle my loose hair. Unlike him, his tightly bound braids and golden beads shimmering in the blue light, I'm not yet an adult, and therefore not allowed to use more than two beads to keep my hair out of my face, nor am I allowed to grow a beard until marriage.

Thank the gods that Mellte doesn't have an intended yet. I don't think I could handle the hilarity of seeing him reduced to a stuttering wreck like Kleffdis was a summer solstice ago, wooing some Dwemer lass.

My lips twitch as he walks through the room - paces, really, wearing a contemplative frown on his face. "How about we go train and leave Da and Mentor to do the talking?" He finally asks, and I shake my head regretfully.

"No way. They'd spot us if we tried to sneak away, remember what happened last time? I'm not going through that humiliation again!" I feel red creeping onto my cheeks at just the thought, and Mellte, too, turns the colour of ruby.

"Please, no. You know, for a brat, you're pretty smart. Must be your da's influence." He flops back down on his bed, facing me once again as I put my book aside. If Mellte is this chatty, I'll not be able to get any reading done anyway.

"I learn from my mistakes, unlike you, apparently. Also, I'm nineteen winters. I'll be an adult and finish my studies in under a year!" I would be lying if said I wasn't miffed at his continuous barbs about my age.

He snickers. "I hope you'll get Xrib's Blessings when you master your art, Fjaldi. Da always ever talks about your natural talent for the forge." I smile softly, eyes gleaming.

"I hope so, as well. I'm sure you'll receive a Blessing too… Once mother is through with you, there really is no other option." I end with a humorous tone, thinking about my mother's headstrongness. He laughs at that, deep and belly-aching, his body shaking and I find myself laughing along, the voices in the next room having gone quiet a little while ago.

"And then, we'll both get married to lovely lasses and live out our years here, together. Maybe I'll have a child better than you at forging! Gods know that the talent skipped a generation with you!" I snicker, before quieting in silent contemplation once more, leaving my cousin to roll his eyes and roll over to go to sleep.

 _Stay here in Nchuand-Zel for the rest of my life… huh? After tasting the fresh mountain air, and smelling the crispness of pine trees, and seeing the Aurora far above me in an endless sky... Also, marrying a lass?_

I don't think that life will be an option for me.

I frown, staring down at my hands. Perhaps I'm reading too much into things.

I sigh, deciding that reading into the intentions of the gods, existing or not, is a little too much effort, so late at night with a long day ahead of me. I glance at Mellte once more, before turning over and looking at the grey wall, tracing the intricate carvings without much difficulty until my eyes droop and my mind drifts off into the land of dreams.

…

What seems like only seconds later, my eyes reopen. There's a dull ache in my skull, and I remember wisps of an odd dream, where I was addressed in a strange, guttural language by a creature clad in lavish purple robes – and he apologised to me, for what he was going to do.

I blink away the last remnants of sleep, wearily wiping it from my eyes as I shiver in the cold.

… _Wait. Cold_? I look around, only to see that Mellte had pulled off a bad prank, once again. He'd taken my covers, my pillow, and even the fur I'd been laying on..! _What the…_ He'd also taken his own possessions, and had brought them out of the room.

 _If I am lucky, I'll find my stuff hanging from the highest pipe, nevermind how he got it there._ The chest against the wall is the only thing he left untouched. Honestly, I'm not that surprised, as dragging it out of the room would have made enough noise to wake me up!

I look down at myself, seeing that I'm as naked as the day I was born. _No wonder I'm cold!_

"Mellte, when I get my hands on you…" I grumble as I grab my amulet from the nightstand and stand up unsteadily, feeling a wave of vertigo overtake me for a few moments. _Did the bastard DRUG me?_ He'd _better_ have left some clothing!

Gritting my teeth, I wrench the chest open, to find precious few of my belongings still left… And somethings new as well. Confused, I lift the mail and leather travelling gear from the ornate wooden chest, as well as thick pants fit to brave harsh climate and taking hits, sturdy leather boots with thick fur covering the inside, and my old travelling cloak.

The very same cloak I'd worn three years ago, when first arriving here. It looks as good as new, I'd expected it to gather dust. My old bracers I find as well, and I adjust them to my size before putting them on. I find a small purse too, filled with metal disks with a face on them. It looks a little like the coin the Snowmer use. Where could Mellte possibly have gotten these?

Aside from my Dwemer dual axes, forged by my own hand, there really isn't much else in the chest aside from a steel dinner knife. Or, well, a dagger, if I must get technical.

 _I wonder what Mellte has planned that requires gear like this, or weapons at all. Maybe he's planning to spar?_ I shut the chest, checking his dresser, but it's empty. This has to be the most elaborate scheme he's come up with in quite a while… If anything, I'm impressed by the amount of planning, and he didn't give away anything last night!

 _He's getting better, perhaps he should have asked for an apprenticeship under a Traps Master instead, they would have appreciated his creative streak more than the AOS workers._

I try and hear if he's in the next room, but it's quiet. It's… never this quiet, now that I think about it. Not even my uncle is snoring, and I can't hear Ma preparing breakfast… Pursing my lips, a strange feeling washing over me and settles heavily in my chest, I push open the door. It moves with a hideous creaking sound, like it hasn't been oiled in _months_.

Now, I'm officially wary. Ma and uncle _both_ absolutely despise creaking or croaking furniture, we lost many a good chair that way. I loop one of my axes onto my belt, keeping the other at my side in a loose grip as I enter the kitchen, stopping dead in my tracks.

… _This is the kitchen, isn't it_..?

What was once the fire pit, always warm and inviting and surrounded with food and pots and barrels, is now but a pile of ashes, not even the cooking spit still present, and I was sure that thing was bolted into the wall. I blink at it in shock, worried now at how all the furniture seemed to have been removed, save for a lone barrel in the corner, one that doesn't even hold anything when I check.

But the silence bothers me most of all. It's a common fact that a Dwemer city is never silent, never is nobody working. One of the perks of not being constricted to a solar cycle. But now… Now it's quiet. An unnatural quiet. I don't like it much _at all_.

Feeling a rush of panic I hadn't expected, I throw open the doors in our humble house. "Ma?" I call out, "Mellte? Mentor? This is not funny! Show yourselves!" My mother's room once more has me stand still in surprise and not a little bit of unease.

There is absolutely no way I slept through the removal of _all_ ourfurniture – and there's cobwebs everywhere. I take a deep breath, taking in the murky, dusty air and coughing harshly, a pressing feeling of urgency making itself known as I run to the next room. My uncle is gone – and so are all his possessions. I open the wardrobe cautiously, but dust is the only thing that greets me inside. I bite my lip harshly.

"Uncle? MELLTE! MA? Is anybody there?" I call out again, but the unnerving silence remains, the dust stirring faintly beneath my the soles of my strange boots. I swallow thickly, feeling the faint stirrings of hunger rise from not having had breakfast.

Normally, if I want a snack, I'll just walk right over to Ma, or to the communal kitchen in the next hall over, but somehow I get the feeling that I won't get it that easily now. I go back to my bedroom, opening the drawer on my nightstand to find… a ruined book, faded and yellow and falling apart from age. I carefully pick it up, and even more gently rub a finger across the cover, the familiar title the exact same as I'd read last night. Was it… Had that been last night? How long…

 _How long have I been asleep?_ This book was brand new, a gift. _This isn't possible_! I mean, surely some of the scholars had been researching the time and space continuum, but they never got beyond theoretical debates, or so I'd heard. _Had they been lying?_ I take another breath, my throat aching with the dust that entered my lungs, sending me into another coughing fit. Feeling wariness and trepidation creep up on me, I push open the doors that lead out of our halls.

 **Reviews are love… Or whatever. Tell me what you think!**


	2. Rude Awakening

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Here's the second chapter, I do not own Skyrim or any other Bethesda games. I do own my OC's. Feel free to comment! Also, I had definitely not expected the (for me) large response to chapter one! Also, I feel I should mention that English isn't my first language, so if you see any mistakes please correct me, so I can learn from them for the future!**

 **WARNING: Spoilers!**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _How long have I been asleep? This book was brand new, a gift. This isn't possible! I mean, surely some of the scholars had been researching the time and space continuum, but they never got beyond theoretical debates, or so I'd heard. Had they been lying? I take another breath, my throat aching with the dust that entered my lungs, sending me into another coughing fit. Feeling wariness and trepidation creep up on me, I push open the doors that lead out of our halls._

Chapter 2 – Rude Awakening

…To stop shock still once more at the sight of rubble and decay that greets me. Large parts of stone have fallen down, rubble and debris and metal parts litter the halls, only the steam coming out of the pipes still the same, though the pipes are dented and covered in dirt, some of them broken into pieces, nearly blocking the hallways to the forge. Nchuand-Zel is a ruin. This is in no way a prank of my well-meaning cousin, and with a sensation uncannily similar to a knife in the heart, I wonder if any of them walk these halls, or walk anywhere at all, really. My breathing picks up, and my heart thunders in my chest, clenching and unclenching painfully as I sink to the filthy ground on the spot. My chest aches, and I claw at it through my leather armour. My hand barely manages to hold on to my axe, and I feel so dizzy I think I might just pass out. I sit quietly in the ruined hallways, beyond words with confusion and panic as I shake all over.

I even try to use my inborn ability, the Calling, to send a distress signal to anyone who might be nearby, but even after ten minutes that could have been hours have passed and I feel that my legs just might decide to support my weight after all, there's no answer, confirming my fears: not a single Dwemer is making the noise I'm used to, because not a single Dwemer is here to hear me. There isn't a soul with the ability in these halls. _Therefore, there are no Dwemer. Perhaps if I can find one of mother's Animunculi, they can point me in the right direction_... Especially since I can use the Calling to make a brief connection with them, as well as any other living being, as long as I'm directing it at them, rather than use a widespread signal.

Shakily, and gripping my axe tightly, drawing my other weapon, I walk again, forced to go around bends and crawl under fallen beams, I eventually make my way to the main hall, where I spot a few Spheres buzzing around. "Hello?" I ask cautiously, jumping backwards when the things immediately charge their weapons, before lowering them and buzzing more incessantly, rolling over and around me as if celebrating my presence. But usually, only their builders had such a privilege. I clear my throat. " **Where can I find food?"** I used to have a Sphere as a babysitter when I was young, these were identical to that one. The one I'd called Bolt, since it had a loose bolt that made a rattling sound whenever it moved. It puts me at ease, to at least see that some Animunculi are still here. Even if… my people seem to have left this place, without me. _It doesn't explain the gear I found, or why I woke up so disoriented, or why this place is in ruins. What in the mines is going on?_

The Spheres lead me through more hallways, and eventually, I recognise the remnants of the buildings around me – they are leading me to the Trade Centre, the part of the city that had made Nchuand-Zel prosper. We traded with any folk at our doorstep, and let competent traders of other races reside in the houses there, as well as building an inn for the travellers, and even two temples. If there aren't any Dwemer nearby, surely one of the outside traders might be able to give me more insight.

But as the spheres push open the main doors leading outside, I'm forced to immediately let my blades taste the blood of _ridiculously large spiders, what in the mines –_ I let out a cry of surprise as the largest spider I've ever laid eyes on falls from the ceiling, the whole room covered in thick, sticky spider webs. There's definitely not been any traders in here for quite some time if the thing grew THIS damn LARGE. The Spheres are quick to jump to my defence, hacking away at the humungous spider and trying to dispatch the smaller ones ad I duck from a glowing piece of spider web, dripping a strange liquid.

I curse and bury my axe in the head of one of the smaller spiders, its manacles clacking once more before the foul thing crumbles to the floor, staining it a blackish purple. The mother spider is clicking loudly, horribly, and I sprint up a ramp as it dispatches of one of the Animunculi. " **Back away from it!"** I snap, pushing all confusion and pain and uncertainty aside because _that bitch is going down._ With a battle cry, I launch myself off the platform and onto the things' back, hacking away at its neck and too long, too hairy legs until finally, _finally,_ the spider drops to the ground, sending me sprawling onto the slick, web-covered, bloody floor with a squelching sound. I probably would have ruined my clothes if my cloak hadn't been treated against stains.

As it is, I stand up a bit wobbly, lack of food and the horrific sight enough to nearly send me into a second panic attack, but the whirring of a Sphere behind me, steadying and supporting me, brings me back to myself. I chuckle softly, wiping my brow and in the process making my face even filthier. " **Thank you."** They hadn't seen this coming either, they were, for all their intelligence, still machines after all. I give it a brittle smile regardless, even as the other one rolls up to me, the two Dwemer Spiders that had at some point joined us clicking at the real deal in distaste. They brought me all the way to the entrance to the Trade Centre, but stopped in the hall leading up to it. I blinked at them. " **Are you… Not joining me, then?** " The general response could easily be translated to: No.

I straighten myself as much as I can, nervous. It had been three years since I'd seen any person not Dwemer or Snowmer. The caravan who'd guided my mother and I through the mountains had held several Nedic people, as well as a Khajit. It had been a strange yet enlightening experience, looking back. At the time, I'd been too busy grieving and pondering what Da would have thought of them all to really care.

Then, with some trouble, I push the gates – to find them stuck. I blink a few times, not too surprised since the spider infestation would have certainly made them lock this place – if there was nobody else inside. I take another shuddering breath, before starting to pound on the double doors as hard as possible. Seeing the animunculi leave from the corner of my eye and the hunger gnawing at my stomach only spurs me on, and I start yelling and cursing as well.

After yelling my throat hoarse, I draw my axe, still slickened with blood, and aim carefully for the lock, pained as I am to destroy more of my home. With a sickening crack, it comes off, further alluding to how badly the city had had to endure. _How long did I sleep?_ This time, the doors give, and I'm more than disgruntled when they finally open. I'm hungry, I just killed the biggest spider I've ever seen, I'm horrifically filthy, my people are missing, my _family_ is missing, the city is in ruins, I have a headache, and now some weird golden elf is screaming at me in absolute gibberish, exclaiming about the blood or my axes, or me, or both, or none of it, I have no clue. The silent mini-weird-elf behind him is also just standing there with his jaw dropped was not helping either.

Neither were the two guys in matching odd mail outfits that wouldn't even stop an arrow, both Men carrying large weapons. Also yelling. I undergo the newly invented form of torture for all of five minutes before I am completely done. " **WOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT YOUR DAMNED MOUTHS?!"** I scream, louder than them, and my throat does not appreciate it even as I sheathe my weapons with a wince as the guard-Men raise theirs threateningly. Why are there no Animunculi here? They guarded the walls and the entrance last time I was here. Though, my memory is hazy, and I might have missed any guard-Men walking around.

Something keeps niggling at the back of my mind though, and I'm not sure what it is, but I'm pretty sure that the weird way the weird-elf's eyes light up as they train intently on my person has to do with it. Slowly, the man asks another question, this time the words sound different, more flowing. Then, another series of words, said in a questioning manner, again said differently. Different languages..? Finally, _I thought he would never get it, this IS a Dwemer city, regardless of who lives on its surface levels,_ the Mer says something recognisable: " **You…Dwemer…Yes?"**

I don't dare relax. The guy's accent is terrible, though, so bad that it startles a snort out of me. **"I am**." Suddenly, the creep is beside himself with emotion, dancing and yelling again, this time at the guard-Men and the mini-elf. Even though they are all ridiculously tall, it looks kind of funny. The guard-Men grumble, but leave, even as the mini-elf tries to calm down the creep. I decide to take a leap, so to speak, when nothing else comes out of the only person that can even remotely speak my language, apparently. **"Excuse me?** " The elf pauses, staring at me intently again. I pat myself on my stomach with a sheepish grin, figuring body language would do. " **Food?** "

" **Foh-eed?** " the mer repeats, before nodding and snapping something at the mini-elf. "food."He says then, and I try and copy, the strange vowels and sounds rolling across my tongue in a way that's quite unfamiliar. He seems oddly pleased. I'm… not convinced that this is a good idea. But to be honest with myself, what other choices are there? I let the man take me down to a station with an unnerving, skull-adorned, glowing table and an alchemy laboratory. I take place on the stone bench, trying and failing to ignore the bent and dented scrap metal around me. This elf… Was a scholar? The books scattered around the place seem to point in that direction, at least. Suddenly, bread and some sticky good are pressed into my hands, and, eyeing the red sticky item, I opt to eat the bread first. Well, more like devour. I could probably handle two or three more.

Instead, I investigate the sticky food item like a researcher would. I observe it from every angle before sniffing it, then sinking my teeth in it carefully. All under careful scrutiny of the two weird elves. My eyes widen. Wow. This is – this is absolutely delicious! Soft, and creamy, with something sweet. It's gone within seconds, and after a hopeful glance around that I'll deny to my dying breath, I slump slightly in disappointment. The mini-elf laughs, like the tingling of the small bells my people use to keep track of smaller livestock. He points to himself. "I am Aicantar. Ai. Can. Tar." I glance at the finger he points at himself. It must be his name. **"A- Ain… Ainc-** " frustrated, I narrow my eyes at him in absolute focus, going over the ways the alien sounds rolled off the elf's tongue. "Aincantar." I finally say, with all the solemnity of a funeral.

When the elf nods enthusiastically, I let a small smile grace my face, though it fades just as quickly, as I'm painfully reminded that he is not Mellte. " **You may call me Fjaldi. Fjaldi of Bthardamz.** " An uncomprehending look. Oh, right. I point a finger at myself, making sure to pronounce my name as clearly as I can. "Fjaldi." He is silent for a few moments. "Fjaldi. #!%# %&(%%$ %. $^#&*## #%^&." I stare at him silently, not understanding a word of what he said, until he realises his mistake and chuckles, looking around as if searching, before grabbing a wooden plate, paper roll and piece of charcoal. He rolls out the paper across the wood, and hands it to me alongside the charcoal.

" %$%^#^&*$$%? Uhm, ##? $%?" he mimics writing, and I nod in understanding, making a sketch of the sweet treat I just had, and drawing a crude arrow towards it, before turning to show it. The mer – Aicantar, laughs loudly, startling the muttering weird-elf. "$^$ boiled crème treat **.** " Then, he points at the weird-elf. " **Calcelmo.** " I frown, as the weird-elf, Calcium? Cal-cell-mon? Calcelmo? Looks up at what I assume is his name.

"Calcelmo." I try. And sure enough, the elf looks up again, this time irritated. He turns on his nephew right away, sending an ocean of gibberish the poor elf's way in a tone that I recognise as scathing. I throw a piece of scrap metal at the man, glaring at him and tutting in disapproval, using the charcoal to draw another arrow along with a sketch of a demon. I make sure the arrow points at the weird-elf as I raise an eyebrow. " **Surely you're not so primitive as not to understand this? Stop harassing him.** " I bite.

It's clear these two are kin. How dare they do this in public, it's distasteful? Family is the highest good a Dwemer can have. Bonds of kinship are not to be taken lightly. "Calcelmo. Aicantar. " I say slowly. The elf mutters something again. Then, he exchanges a few words with Aicantar that fly completely over my head, though Aicantar mentions my name several times in an increasingly agitated tone.

Eventually, Calcelmo barks out something, abruptly turning back to the skull-adorned table. Aicantar gives me a feeble grin, reaching out his hand for me to take hesitantly. I ignore it, but stand, tilting my head. When he starts walking, looking over his shoulder constantly, I follow, hoping I interpreted the gestures correctly, gaining an approving nod and a thumbs up. I copy the gesture in faint confusion, before using the Calling, getting rather sick of not understanding him. I make sure that he knows the connection is there even as he startles violently, and I shush him mentally.

" **It's okay! I'm not out to hurt you**." Speaking via the Calling is very odd, since you do not use words, only a combination of thoughts, images and feelings to convey a meaning unless you truly focus. It wasn't a necessity since I did not speak the language. " **I am looking for something,** " I convey, _**"relax."**_ He does so after a few moments where we are both frozen, nodding, and I feel an immense wave of excitement flowing off him that is so infectious it has me crack my first genuine grin since I woke up.

I only briefly observe the very basics, taking Aicantar along for the ride – letting him see and learn all that I see and learn. I stick to the very surface, recalling the elf's memories of the places' layout, and the foundations of the language. The process only takes a few seconds, but leaves me stumbling inelegantly and Aicantar groaning loudly, both of us clutching our heads. It's a handy ability to have, the Calling, though not without drawbacks and severe limits. Any longer and I'd have lost whatever I'd eaten – the bread and boiled crème treat. "I sorry am." I utter, searching through the newly acquired information to string together what I hoped was an apology in the weird elongated vowels they use.

But wow. An entire language, a civil war, prevalent racism in everyday life, and the city, Nchuand-Zel… Or at least the surface level, was now Markarth. With vague sense of 'trouble', though I did not keep up the connection long enough for me to see. At least the simplest words were not beyond my understanding now, though the headache would likely last the next two days. Aicantar would be rid of it much faster. "It's no problem… Hey! You speak our **language**!" I raise a brow. "Language? The words speak we?"

"The words we speak. Yes." He agrees, the biggest grin I've seen as of yet on his face. I nod decisively, "Aye, Good. That was **the Calling.** An **ability** my people born are with." He seems stumped for a few seconds. "You can read minds?!" I blink at him once, twice, then I chuckle. "No. It is more… **complicated.** Less easy." I gesture around vaguely, frustrated that I still cannot express myself well, even though my parents always insisted on me being well-spoken. I am curious despite my confusion and trepidation at the absence of Dwemer and the ruin everywhere. What sort of society is this, that words like 'magic' and 'mage' are as common as 'warrior'?

"How about I take you to the ...?" Again, one of the words is beyond my understanding, and I frown. "That last word is what?" He, too, mirrors my expression. "Did you not learn the whole language at once?" I shake my head after deciphering the meaning of the sentence fully, a hand resting on my axe as one of the guards walks by. The new information entering my mind is disconcerting: 'dangerous, corrupt, don't trust any of them'. I have no clue why anyone would employ a guardsman if he cannot be trusted with the safety of those in his care. Or why they would be… bought, if guards were as well-paid as the ones I knew.

"Not able. Language is not easy. There are too many words. Keeping the **Calling activated** for… much time, is… **dangerous?** " It comes out as more of a question, even as I follow the weird-elf – Altmer, my mind supplies, through the upper level. It's desolate. Broken. Ruined. I remember being proud of these halls, their splendour, and the many market stalls placed along the sides. Now, it looks more like a political command centre. I don't much like the change. I stay silent even as I'm eventually handed more food, vegetables this time, with a muttered apology from Aicantar.

"You are really a Dwemer?" the Altmer asks as he takes a seat on a stone bench, and I ponder for a while, slowly eating the leafy greens. The tone in his words – awed? Wary? Disbelieving? Strangely hopeful? Pitying? I cannot say, and it's irking me. "I am of the Dwemer race. Aye. You **act like** it is a strange thing. Live you in a Dwemer city, but you never seen a Dwemer?" I attempt to ignore the pressure on my chest, the feeling that goes beyond uneasy, making my breathing hitch in my throat when Aicantar shakes his head. But his verbal answer… I refuse to think that I understand it at first. "There haven't been Dwemer in Nirn for #$ #... A very long time." _A very long time? As in, years? Decades? Eons?_

"How much time a ' _cen-tuuh-ri-ez_ ' is?" I ask warily, not daring to believe it. He looks at me then, and the look of utter sympathy there cannot be faked. "One century is a hundred years." My world grinds to a halt. _What..? No… That cannot be…_ I stand up, angrily. "You _lie_." He holds his hands up in a placating manner, and I ignore the other Altmer in odd robes and Elvish armour as they approach at my loud accusation. "I'm not! The Dwemer all disappeared for reasons nobody knows! Well… Not all Dwemer, apparently." He ends softly, eyeing me. My body is frozen, hands splayed out on the wooden table and eyes wide in horror.

" **They are gone..?** " I breathe, and the swords being drawn I don't hear over the ringing in my ears. The fight seems to drain out of me. Ma… Mellte… Uncle… Kleffdis… All the workers at the forge, at the Animunculi stations, the children I went to school with, my friends in Bthardamz and in Nchuand-Zel..? Gone? Disappeared? " **Then why-** " my voice breaks, horror clouding my vision. I feel faint. " **Why am I still… here?** " Aicantar rushes over as I sway dangerously, and I numbly bring a hand to my face to feel the wetness there, the tears. " **I am… Alone..?"** I whisper, aghast. _My family is gone. My people-_ I should be glad that my mind decides to shut down all by itself.

The world around me turns black as I crumple in a dead faint before even hitting the floor, the last thing I see being the gold-embroidered front of a set of unfamiliar robes.

 **I felt this would be a good place to cut off – that said, most chapters will vary in length, mostly between 2000-4000 words, for easy reading! R &R if you wanna. Also, I feel that Calcelmo should at least have a basic idea of how Dwemeris should sound like, since Altmer live a long time and he spent pretty much all that time researching them. ALSO, AM I FLAT-OUT CHEATING WITH THE CALLING? Yes, yes I am. **

**Sneak peek!**

… _That's how I found that I'm what counts as a Daedric worshipper._

 **Are you curious yet? Don't worry, it's not as dramatic as I make it sound, though religious trouble will become plenty apparent in the future.**

 **NOTE: I am so, so sorry that I haven't been able to update. We're still in the middle of a move right now and I was only able to get back online since this very morning. I'll try not to have this long a period of time between updates anymore.**


	3. Friends with the gods

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Here we go again! An extra fast update since you all had to wait so long for chapter 2! Hope you all enjoy! Going to have some mushy friendship and a minor background detail that I came up with. Do any of you have more ideas I can bring in? I'd love to hear your opinions! Though, flames will be ignored.**

 **ALSO: WARNING FOR LANGUAGE. Thought that a T-rating would be plenty warning for the occasional F-bomb. Disclaimer – refer to chapter uno, one, ein,** _ **etc**_ **. Spoiler warning – refer to chapter 2. (I'll make a better overview with all warnings once I get things sorted)**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _The floor falls towards me and the world around me turns black as I crumple in a dead faint._

Chapter 3 – Friends with the gods

… The darkness surrounding me is broken only by the faint flickering of a candle. My body feels heavy like the stone I've always lived beneath. I turn my head to the side with some effort to observe the small flame. My mind is blank, blissfully blank. I don't wonder why the candle is there. Why it is so dark. Why my body feels so heavy. Why there are dried tear stains clinging to my face. I think… nothing. I reach up, clasping my amulet loosely, just staring blankly at the candle. _How long have I been asleep?_ The question hauntingly echoes through my mind, and slowly, my memories come back to me. New, silent tears drip slowly down my cheeks as I watch the small candlelight dance. I take a shuddering breath that ends in a sob, and I squeeze my eyes shut. The amulet is warm in my cold hand, and it calms me as it has done many times before.

I get up slowly, wondering if the sun is out _. It probably is not, since the surface-dwellers apparently sleep in darkness when the sun is down._ I'm not hungry, and still numb from the shock I'd received, and my head still dully aches. Luckily, the information is better sorted now, and it doesn't take me as long to identify the words from an up until now foreign language. " Hello?" I ask in a low voice, picking up the candleholder and protecting the flame as I walk in the darkness.

The world feels out of place. Like I have not walked on stone before _. But perhaps, that is merely my altered perception._ It isn't the world, that had changed when I slept away the years, but me. I'd been standing still in time for many years. I am the one out of place. It's… disconcerting. _To not belong from one day to the next._ Even the stone hallways, so familiar in design, cannot put me at ease and feel alien. Nchuand-Zel… no, Markarth, is a strange, new place. I absently wonder when the urge to run back to my bedroom and lock all the doors will be overcome with the need to go outside in the daylight, and explore this new world with all the curiosity I inherited from my Da.

"Hello?" I open the doors, the candle flickering and dying in a puff of smoke that blows away in an erratic pattern, following the cool breeze in the night. I look down at the stone city, motionless. I watch the torches flicker in the night, watch the guards patrol the worn-down stone and avoid the heaps of rubble near the city edges. A large mine is barely visible, far below me. The waterfalls roar in my ears, and even in the pale moonlight, I can see that the stone has not been left undamaged by the force of the water. I smile softly at the serene scene. Then, I look up, and my breath is taken away by the splendour, as it had been three years ago when I first saw the night sky that blanketed the world.

Two moons, silent eyes guarding those below, bathing the world in a gentle light, rose above the mountaintops. The uncountable stars shone and glittered like precious gems on the darkest of blue velvet. Silvery clouds dot the sky, drifting lazily, asleep like the rest of the world. And… the aurora.

It is faint tonight, the green lights dancing just at the corners of the horizon, an endless display of beauty, seen only here, in the far north. A nudge in my mind explains this is called 'Skyrim'. _The edge of the skies… A fitting name._ There is nothing further north beyond the ocean's edge that I know of. The night is light, peaceful, almost as bright as the day and far, far more easy on my eyes, used to the underground as they are. The blanket of dark blue is comforting, but also reminds me of the journey I undertook with my mother, and it brings grief alongside the peace. An odd conundrum, that I do not feel like thinking too much on. The moons are light, but my heart feels heavier than it ever has.

As my eyes hungrily feast on the sights and my nose is tickled by the smells of lit fires and the night, my sensitive pointed ears pick up footsteps over the rushing of the waterfall. I turn my head towards the source slowly, feeling rather underdressed in the plain brown tunic and pants I am wearing. "It's rather odd for anyone to still be out this late." The Altmer says, and I recognise him from earlier – he was the one in the elaborate robes that had the two guard escorts with him. He was wearing the same outfit now, and I bemusedly wondered if he also slept in them.

"…" I stay silent as I observe him. Then: "That fool Calcelmo claims that you are a Dwemer. That is impossible. Who are you, really?" I turn back to stare at the night sky. _This Mer, Altmer, is taller than anyone I've met. Calcelmo and Aicantar, too, tower over the Men-guards. Perhaps it is a distinctive trait for their race? I'd rather crane my neck to see the stars, than do the same to look another in the eye_. "I am Fjaldi." A pause. I tilt my head as if in contemplation, a bitter smile on my face and a gut-wrenching agony in my chest. "I am alone."

I meet his gaze, almost surprised to see the gemstone colouring that I thought was unique to Dwemer. "Why a **concern** to you I am?" The elf frowns. "Do not speak to me in that made-up language." He bites, voice still low, as if not to disturb the night surrounding us. I chuckle softly. "I am Dwemer. Your beliefs do not that change… change that." I correct somewhat absently, as the grammar of this language differs from my own. "I repeat, why does it matter to you?"

A long, surprisingly comfortable silence settles between us as we both are left to our thoughts. "I am Ondolemar. I am a … the Aldmeri Dominion." I raise an eyebrow, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the stone platform we're on. "A what?" He doesn't seem annoyed or even mildly frustrated, as Aicantar was earlier. "A _head Justiciar._ I make sure that no people get the idea of openly _worshipping –_ that is, showing their faith or adoration – for the false god, Talos."

"Tah-loz…" I drawl slowly, trying out the new name as the mer takes a seat next to me, though he eyes the floor in distaste. My butt is freezing off, but at the moment, I don't care. I have something far more interesting to pay attention to. "Why is this Tah-Loz a false god? And who is the Aldmeri Dominion to **dictate the faith of people? –** That is, uhm, decide what others can and cannot… faith."

" _Talos._ Decide which deities others can and cannot worship." The tall elf corrects, and I mentally add it to my knowledge of the language. "This is because Talos was a Man, a Nord, that rose to godhood after his death. A Man cannot possible be a god." I blink at him lazily. "You **surface-dwellers** and your concern about race is dumb." I state bluntly. "My **Da,** that is, my…" Why do I not know the word for father? "My male parent. He me tea- taught. He… taught me. That every **creature** has a soul and a story to tell. They are all… **unique.** He said it is wrong to judge based on what a person is, rather than who they is - are." I'm irked at my lack of knowledge on surface races, and their strange language. "It was the last he taught me." I add, seeing the contemplative look on the other's face, the aristocratic way in which he rose and crossed his arms making me feel a tad insignificant. I am merely a smith's apprentice. Not the son of an advisor. _Why am I even trying to explain this to him? Even I still do not fully understand that lesson, considering that I have been thinking of the humans around in terms as 'primitive apes'._

"I still do not believe you are a Dwemer." He speaks finally, and I snicker softly as I rise, wincing at the cold numbness spread across my behind and upper legs. "But your words bear thinking about." A beat. "Your father was a wise man." I smile sadly, the grief in my chest weighing down my shoulders like I'm carrying a heavy pack filled with ore. "Aye. A scholar, was he. **Ma** used to say that his thoughts ran deep enough to hit **magma.** Molten rocks deep in ground." I explain at the Altmer's questioning look. "We used it to **fuel** – feed? our larger **forges**. Places where we make weapons." A light of understanding. Then his entire expression shifts into something icy. "Ah, you mean 'forges'… Very interesting. Perhaps we might talk again. Now, if you will excuse me, I am a busy Mer." Abruptly, he turns and leaves, leaving me to stare after him in confusion. _Ondolemar…is it?_

The next few weeks I settle into a pattern. I wake up with the sunrise, and have breakfast with Aicantar and Calcelmo. Then, I accompany the former to the marketplace for fresh produce, with Aicantar teaching me how the currency works, and how to _barter_ – the time he tried that, I gave him a filthy look and got the price down by half with a few well-placed words, to the amusement of the bystanders and the wry humour of the stall owner, who parted with his venison reluctantly. Afterwards, he teaches me the language, writing system, and the general information about the world I now lived in through books and many conversations. Of course, we also liberally use the Calling, though only a few seconds at a time when I do not quite process a concept.

After a brief lunch, I sit with Calcelmo instead, and let the Altmer grill me for any and all information about my people. I gladly part with it, and even teach him a bit of the language. This goes on until Calcelmo started muttering to himself, writing notes like a Mer possessed, at which point he stops listening. The remainder of the day is be spent training in the first room of Nchuand-Zel, where the Animunculi now hung around more often, wandering around the city getting to know people, or helping Ghorza at the forge, since… Well, since her apprentice can barely hold a hammer. The way he abuses the steel makes me want to show him how to hold a hammer by slamming it into his thick skull. Ghorza laughed when I mentioned it, but had forbidden me from doing so.

I love spending time at the forge more than any of the other ways I kept myself busy. The singing of steel makes me calm down, and after hearing from Ghorza how orcs poured their feelings into their weapons, I decided to forge myself a new dagger, made out of malachite. When Ghorza first held it to inspect it, she gruffly patted me on the shoulder and awkwardly told me that if I ever needed to talk, she'd be there. I'd smiled softly and said nothing, going to bed early.

The nights are terrible. I'm continuously haunted by nightmares. Mellte screaming at me, telling me I abandoned them all, my uncle, disappointment in his gaze. My mother, clutching a faceless body, her eyes empty, always so empty, like she didn't see me standing there no matter how I called for her. The worst ones are – the ones where they are all going about their everyday lives. I'm walking amongst them, but they don't notice me. I'm like a ghost. I try to warn them to escape, to run away, but my hands pass through their bodies like a ghost's. Then, they finally look at me, asking me why I slept. _How long have you been asleep?_ And they crumble, crumble to dust in front of my eyes, their gazes accusing and there's always the empty looks. Like black pits, and I wake up drenched in sweat and shrouded in silence.

Then, I glance at the golden morning sky, plaster a smile on my tired face, and walk downstairs for breakfast. The city – Markarth, isn't helping the nightmares any. I see familiar things everywhere, and it hurts a part deep inside of me, but nothing that I see is the same as I last saw. The itch grows, and sometimes when I wake up after a nightmare, I go to the stone platform. And Ondolemar - _poor Ondolemar, forced into a job he didn't want, something he confesses to me when we're both surrounded by bottles of mead, hushed in the darkness, drowning our grief._ His father, too, was a scholar. His father, too, saw the races as equal. That's why Thalmor killed his father and brought him in for re-education.

I find new bonds of friendship, though Aicantar and Calcelmo feel more like… colleagues than friends. But Ghorza, Ghorza and Ondomelar and, to some extent, Verulus. The monk was quite adamant in teaching me about the eight divines, and I made a deal that, in exchange, I would teach him about the gods my people knew. I knew not of the story of the Night Mother, and I wondered where she got the idea of courting Death.

I asked him to bring me books on all of the … Divines, as well as their antitheses. That's how I found that I'm what counts as a Daedric worshipper. And that what counted as a half-assed Dwemer pantheon, where really, Xrib seemed to be the sole Dwemer-only deity in Nirn. But. Meridia… the White Lady, _Arnknurlaf_.

Xrib, Sait'iis, Meridia. The only things reminiscent of 'gods' my people knew. _They're more like concepts, really…_ Not even one of them is acceptable in this new world… Escpecially Sait'iis. _Or should I just start referring to him as 'Sithis' now?_ *****

…I suppose it is a very good thing I am no priest or avid worshipper. I close the last book, adding it to the pile tiredly even as Aicantar's eyelids start to droop. "That was the last one. You're getting better." I nod in acknowledgement. "You have my thanks for teaching me to read and write." _Please do me a favour and don't ask me any questions on my reading choices._ He waves it away. "It wasn't a problem, really, maybe Calcelmo will get off my case now." I hum in agreement, shoving him playfully. "Aye, let _me_ suffer instead." I groan, standing up and stretching. "You're leaving already?" I glance out the darkening window.

I am supposed to meet Ondolemar soon, and I want to go back to my room at the Silverblood Inn to grab some mead beforehand. "Aye, I am." I am happy that Ghorza pays me a small fee for everything I make or repair, especially if it is Dwemer, since it can be sold for higher prices. It allows me to use a room at the inn and no longer burden the two high elves that helped me out so much already.

As I walk through Understone Keep the next morning, my heart aches once more at seeing the remains of what was once a proud centre of Dwemer activity. Staying in this city… In Markarth, is not helping me with my recovery. Though recovery from what, I cannot exactly figure out. I sigh as I pass the large piles of rubble that lead to the centre hall and from there, I exit the ruins.

The open, vast blue sky entices me as I walk down worn pathways, surrounded by the stone walls my people built ages ago. Part of me is immensely proud. I'd last been in what these people now call 1E 705. My people, according to the vague history books, disappeared around that time. I only vaguely remembered what was happening outside of the city – some mountain blowing ashes into the sky, raining death on the other side of Nirn was the last major news we received. Calcelmo spent a week on the calculations: my people's work has been standing for over four thousand years.

I wonder… I glance up at the skies again, expertly dodging a passing child - _isn't she that one jeweller's kid?_ \- and wonder what the world outside the walls is like. I've been thinking about it more and more, and with the end of the year approaching quickly, I have to make up my mind. People from all across the Reach will come and celebrate, and therefore, many caravans and carriages will be around the city. If I want to leave, it would be best to join one of those – preferably one headed for Solitude. I'd become curious of the place. And perhaps I could make it a point to travel across the province, and see all other holds.

Guiltily, I look over my shoulder, as if expecting a reprimanding from Calcelmo for even thinking about leaving. More and more, he's been following me, asking me about my people, poking and prodding, like I'm a research subject. It doesn't help that he's brought up Dwemer social relationships and family bonds, and that speaking of my family leaves me reeling in such grief that I find myself sharing a bottle of ale with Ondolemar near every night.

The day passes with more light training, and I drop by Ghorza during lunchtime, reminding her that food is, in fact, important and subsequently taking her and her worthless assistant out for lunch at the Inn. Avoiding a Calcelmo out for information, I find, is not an enjoyable pastime, though the evening falls faster than ever and my feet and calves ache from all the stairs I'd run up and down, so at least I got a workout. I smile as I watch Cosnach barter for another drink as Kleppr refuses adamantly, other patrons cheering them on. I'm content to sit back for a bit, the venison stew warm and thick as it goes down my throat.

I buy four bottles of ale, and unfortunately, or fortunately, for me, the entire Silverblood Inn thinks of me as the odd, half-breed alcoholic that got lost in a Dwemer ruin drunk and miraculously survived the ordeal. It's annoying, but those who matter to me know the truth, and I never bother correcting people a second time since I'd be doing so all day. Kleppr gives me a half-hearted ''get home safe'. Well, it's not like any of them are going to believe me when I say that I'm regularly getting buzzed with the resident Thalmor Justiciar.

I walk up the many, many stone steps with a pained grimace, flopping down inelegantly with a groan once I finally reach the platform in front of Vlindrell Hall. I'd found out nobody lived there at the moment, but that it was for sale. I eyed the door as I waited for my friend to arrive. _Even if I got the cash together, I'd never buy it. Staying in the city…_

 _I would not_. Not be staying here for much longer. A sense of relief washes over me momentarily as I finally make my choice, but it also comes with heavy trepidation. My grasp of the language has gotten better, but many cultural aspects still elude me. Footsteps behind me, followed by a puff of air as Ondolemar sinks to the ground next to me, handing me a boiled crème treat 'left from dinner'. I grin at him in a silent thanks for my favourite food. "Three months." He says softly, and I glance at him from the corner of my eye, opening a bottle and passing it to him. "Three months of what?" I inquire, letting the peace of the late evening fall over me. "Since you waltzed in here. Since you screamed at Aicantar like a man possessed before passing out in front of my face."

A laugh escapes me, echoing in the dark. "Three months of having to see your ugly mug every day." I snicker at his affronted look. "Well, you're not exactly a beauty yourself… brat. Perhaps I should take your alcohol, it's clear that a child like you cannot handle their liquor." I raise both eyebrows. Ondolemar didn't even know my age. "Excuse me?" I drawl out, "I cannot hear you through that cloud of ego surrounding you." Were he any less a trained Altmer of superior breeding, he would have snorted into his alcohol. We enjoy a companionable silence, listening to the chirping of insects that had frankly scared the hell out of me the first few nights, before I found out the source.

"I'm joining you when you leave for Solitude in four days' time." I say finally, a sense of finality washing over me. There is no going back now. I'm leaving, probably for the better. "Are you certain?"

"I am." We drink in silence again, and I look out over the city with a small smile playing on my lips, gaze soft as I drink in the buildings. _I want to know. I want to know what happened to my people, and I want to know FOR SURE._

 **Dwemer are pretty damn fascinating. Also, I'm curious, why do YOU think Ondolemar is such an… inactive Thalmor? That you can get to ruin his own ambassador's party?**

 _ ***My take on this will be explained in later chapters – I left it vague and confusion on purpose.**_


	4. The First Steps

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **General Info *later chapters included*:**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim, only Fjaldi and other OC's.**

 **There will be SPOILERS so if you have not played the game don't read. There will also be language. References to homosexuality in later chapters.**

 **Canon-typical warnings for: Murder, gore, references to genocide, racism, misogynism(?).**

 **In this chapter, see also: Wooden buildings are utter crap and only one person in Skyrim seems to realise this.**

 _ **IMPORTANT NOTE: THIS IS ALL BASED ON THE VANILLA GAME.**_ **With the things I have planned I won't have time to work the DLC's in. Maybe after an in-story year or something, if I can manage and enough people feel like it. There's just… So much content.**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _I want to know. I want to know what happened to my people, and I want to know FOR SURE._

Chapter 4 – The First Step

The night passes, another… strange dream demanding my attention, though I don't manage to hold on to it long enough to figure out what it was about. The next few days pass in a blur of goodbyes.

When I offhandedly mention the thought of architecture in Skyrim to Ghorza, she tells me a bit about interesting places to visit. A college up in Winterhold, a 'reach of dragons', and a palace in Solitude. She also comments that 'if I'm going to travel through the province to go sightseeing, I might want to try for Hammerfell or Cyrodiil instead, since most of the buildings in Skyrim are made of simple wood.' She'd also nearly fallen over the railing straight into the waterfall with deep, roaring laughter when I exclaimed about the ridiculousness of wooden buildings, and _surely_ the world had seen some advancement in several thousand years? _I mean, it's been over a thousand years, hasn't it? Wood? She's clearly jesting._

Also, needless to say, nobody but Calcelmo and Aicantar know _and_ believe that I am a Dwemer. Ondolemar and Ghorza, whilst my friends, still have their reasons for not believing me – one of which being that no Dwemer had set foot in Markarth for three-and-a-half millennia. I muse on the likelihood of anyone ever taking me seriously in the future as I trace my steps from the Silverblood Inn towards Understone Keep, passing the guards with a respectful nod before entering and finding the two Altmer that had helped me gather my wits in this strange place. Breakfast disappears quickly into my mouth, and I give them a last goodbye, Calcelmo expressing his regret at the fact that I'm leaving.

He's backed off a bit since the housecarl-lady came and told him off for hounding a guest. I feel a bit guilty, not knowing her name. It starts with a 'Fa'-sound, though, I know that much. _Why do I even care? It's not like it's Mellte, having an obvious crush._

Ondolemar is already outside the city, since we both decided that it would be unwise for me to be spotted being pleasant with the Thalmor. I walk down the worn stone path, and as I briefly turn on my heel to look back at the city, I feel this moment has a form of symbolic significance. I gaze upon the walls that exude a familiarity that has my heart clench in my chest, and I clutch my amulet tightly. Taking a deep breath of fresh, early morning mountain air, I turn my back on the city of stone, towards the endless fields of green, and the horizon that hid an entire world free for me to wander. _I want to crawl back in bed. I want my Ma to walk next to me, teaching me how to survive, like last time. But, mostly, just a bed._

As Da once said to me: _the first step on the road to destiny is the hardest. Most cannot bring myself to take it._ As I take in the endless expanse of sky, and where it meets the worn stone and the rooftops of the stables and the farms, as well as the mines in the distance. I smile faintly, making my way down the path that lies before me. _The first steps_ …

I'm brought out of my pondering by a cleared throat and the whinnying of horses as I turn around the bend up the road. Ondolemar and the two elven guards are already sat on horses, and there's no fourth in sight. "You ride with me, or walk." Ondolemar snaps, and oh, I nearly forgot he's not a morning mer. I snicker at his misfortune, even though lack of sleep from worrying all night has given me dark circles, too. _How I'm starting to hate those dead, dead, dead eyes._

Ten minutes later, I'm uttering a litany of colourful curses at horses, their ancestry, and their _ridiculous_ sizes. Eventually, one of the guards gets down and helps me up, and even with _that_ I barely manage to stay on the wretched creature. Seeing how far my legs are from the ground and deciding I _hate horses,_ I hold onto Ondolemar's Thalmor robes for dear life, the horse making distressed sounds until the Altmer mutters soothing words in a lilting language that even has my racing heart calm a bit. It sounds like a song. Then, we're off, and I still hate horses.

By the time we've passed Dragon Bridge in the middle of the night, out of sight of any guards or people, I decide I hate horses more than the wolves that attacked us. More than the Forsworn maniacs with their painful light shows and the half-bird creatures Naielir taught me were called 'Hagravens'.

By the time we're in Solitude, those same bird-women cost us the life of Naielir, and with fear of danger and being killed, sorrow for the death of my travelling companion, and anger at the bitch that killed him in my heart, my axes struck true faster and more brutal than ever before, and Ondolemar allows us a brief pause near a creak to wash ourselves off the blood.

 _I wonder if the people of Skyrim bathe regularly. Do they have communal baths? Or is it seen as indecent? Do they bathe at all?_ Weird, how my thoughts turn to inconsequential matters like that when I can still hear the mer's dying screams ringing in my ears. _Did ma and Mellte have time to scream? Did any of them? Was their disappearance painless?_

We're quiet and subdued as we near Solitude, and I leave the duo of Altmer to gallop ahead of me half an hour from the capital city. Ondolemar manages a thin smile, a crack in his perfect Thalmor façade, as we say our goodbyes. "Thank you." I murmur, and he nods stoically. "There are few pleasures that give me peace of mind. The time we spent together, I consider part of those. Until we meet again, friend." And so I watch them ride off, following on foot, with my poor bottom aching from long, painful times on horseback – not to mention my other parts. In fact, my entire body hurts, and the walk to Solitude is a whole lot less pleasant than I'd been hoping for. I curse out loud, before letting my feet carry me along the road mindlessly, a hand on one of my axes and letting the icy breeze rattle my teeth and keep me alert.

Unfortunately, it's the middle of winter, I'm in a barren, snow-filled land, my body has suffered from horseback riding and I am _never getting on a horse again, Xrib be my witness,_ and also – oh wait, there's the gates. I blink a few times but no, I am not imagining things. _How nice_. I rock back on my heels slightly, observing the stone structures.

When we passed Dragon Bridge earlier, even in darkness and from a distance, I had been forced to concede that Ghorza was right – in a very, very long time, no other species up here in the North had matched the architectural splendour of my people. No wonder. Really. But…

 _Honestly,_ _wood._ Useful to set on fire. Not for housing. But the people of Skyrim apparently disagree – not these ones, though. This place, whilst structurally unsound due to the large natural bridge it is built on that _will_ collapse spectacularly one day, is at least build of proper stone. _Silly humans, how primitive._

The arches are interesting, but I prefer the simple straight lines of my people. _I wonder if the smith here is any good, considering that the main base of the Imperial army is stationed here._ I suppose they must be. _I wonder who they are… if they maybe could –_ no. I can't. I will not sully my uncle's name by taking another master so soon. The completion of my studies can wait. Maybe I can even learn more myself – Ghorza taught me about Orcish craftsmanship, after all. I hadn't heard of it before, but it was easy enough to learn once I caught on to the base principles.

…

The stone houses around me are boorish and grey, the accents made out of equally boorish grey wood. I find myself dully staring at them, the festival decorations the only splashes of colour in this city. I visit the Blue palace, and spent a while researching the architecture, though the guards don't allow me inside since apparently, the Jarl has fallen ill.

I'm left disappointed – the palace isn't even _blue. What's the point of calling it blue and then not investing in the right materials to live up to that name? Maybe the inside is blue? Guess I'll find out later… Or at least someday, hopefully._

I crack my sore bones, stretching a bit whilst walking, ignoring the looks of passer-by's. Most of the looks are aimed at my Dwemer axes, of course. They are allowed to stare. Dwemer craftsmanship is nothing to scoff at, and I will maim whoever claims so. My mood sours further as the grey clouds above my head – _grey. Everything in this city is grey, it seems –_ start to rumble, droplets of water falling down and onto my face when I glance upwards briefly.

…

 _Castle Dour is a sight for sore eyes – if one is planning to go blind entirely_. I eye it with distaste. Nords… have no taste. I purse my lips, and observe the soldiers for a while, mentally critiquing and comparing fighting styles. If the Dwemer style is flowing and harsh, water and fire, striking a balance of defence and offense in neat, geometric lines, these men employ… hack and slash, static like earth without air to balance. I nudge one of the men when he pauses to wipe his forehead. "Spar with me." I demand.

"What..? I'm not fighting you, civilian." He says immediately, and I take a few steps back with a roguish grin on my face, my fingertips caressing the handle of my blades. "Can the big, bad, soldier not handle a plain…civilian? How disappointing." I sigh, trying to rile the man up – and it works like a charm. "You damn-"

"What is going on here?" a strong voice demands. My ears perk up beneath the thick curtain of hair covering them, and I face this new person with an innocuous smirk. Someone in charge, lovely _. Am I feeling up to antagonise an army today?_ "I am merely a wanderer, that I am. I was looking for a suitable sparring partner, but he does not agree I am capable of being a challenge." I keep the smile plastered on my face, though I can sense my heartbeat speeding up. _I am not feeling up to antagonising an army today._

A raised eyebrow, and I see the confusion mingle with the amusement and the disbelief. The man finds the situation amusing, but cannot determine if I am a threat. "Is that so, shorty?" He turns to the soldier. My eye twitches. Everyone loves reminding me of my smaller stature. I did not choose to be this short, even for a Dwemer I am short, but my parents both were, and therefore so am I… less tall than common. The surface-dwellers just grow taller naturally. _Stop harping on me for something I cannot change._

I shrug. "However, you soldiers are probably too good for common folk like me." I twirl my axe a few times, seemingly not paying attention to them anymore. "Guess I'll be off. I'm only here for the turning of the years, anyway." I take my leave, not in a hurry, though I clench my jaw at the snorts and jeers that follow me. _Serves me right for being so impulsive. Ma taught me better than this_. The tips of my ears burn red. Damnit, I really should know better.

 _What the hell am I thinking, challenging someone like that?_ A Dwemer guard would have had my head on a pike! _I shouldn't underestimate humans, THEY're not the ones mostly extinct after all. Or is that because of their breeding habits?_ Still in thought, I let my feet carry me back to the marketplace where I'd gotten breakfast this morning, though I am quickly running out of coin. I have… a meagre 46 gold coins. That's three nights at the inn and a diet of bread and cheap ale if I stretch it. Luckily, the festival is tomorrow.

I already can't wait to leave this place. Not to go back to Markarth, but to see more of Skyrim… For now. _Mellte would want the same… I miss him. Why did it have to be me? Though there's no helping it now… I should try and keep myself busy._

 _Perhaps the blacksmith here needs an extra hand?_ I take a turn, the distant clanging of metal calling to something deep within me. No matter where the road may take me, at heart, I'll always be a craftsman, not a warrior, (I hope).

I greet the smith, Beirand, with a cheery wave. "Good day to you," he says, "What can I help you with?" Sheepishly, I run a hand through my hair. "Actually, I was hoping I could be helping _you_. You see, I am a blacksmith from Markarth. I was hoping to spent my time here productively." He gives me an assessing look, and I see his gaze drop to my hands – worker's hands. Long, strong fingers, the skin of my palms covered in callouses, small scars and old burns from handling a forge before gaining sufficient experience to do so without injury.

 _Like the hands of my mother, and the hands of my cousin, and my uncle. A family of crafters, we were. I am. I- ugh… Forget it. They're gone, Fjaldi, you'd do well to remember that. Stop lingering on it and get moving!_

"I have a large imperial order to fill." He starts hesitantly, scratching the stubble on his chin. "I might not get it finished in time, and then Sayma will have my head for being late to dinner again…" He huffs and nods. "Fine. Make me a steel sword, so I can see how good you are. If you're halfway decent, you can make more of those. I need four blades and two axes by the end of the day." I nod excitedly, grabbing the materials after giving him a questioning look in a silent asking for permission.

The hammer in my hand is heavy but familiar, my amulet glowing dully as the sparks fly from the heated metal as I work quickly, but efficiently. The steel sings through the air a while later. I'm glad that I only have to make a standard-issue blade. If there is to be any extravagance, rare materials, gemstones or engravings involved, I'd be here for the rest of the week, at least. _I wonder if these prim- ugh, people, if these people would like me to show them how to make a crossbow. Then again, seeing as how they're flying at each other's throats right now, that might be a bad idea._

Beirand holds it in front of him, inspecting the steel from all possible angles and for a brief, painful moment, I'm a young teen again, sitting in front of uncle as I show him my first real dagger, watching him in nervous anticipation and subdued excitement, wondering what he'll say. The moment passes, and I manage to quickly wipe the grief off my expression by some miracle. Finally, after what seems like ages, the smith nods in approval. "Fine work. Make me two more of these. I think I can get the rest done myself before evening falls."

Needless to say, this is how I spend the remainder of my day, and I take an hour before dinner to wash up with a barrel of water Beirand so kindly provides. He also gives me 135 gold coins, the value of the blades I'd forged, saying that the imperials always paid more for the speed of the orders and I'd better not be thinking of refusing.

"I can avoid the anger of my wife tonight thanks to you, friend. I cannot thank you enough. You're free to use my equipment whenever you'd like in the future." I blink in surprise as he hands me the coin purse and we shake hands. Smiling, I make my way to the Winking Skeever. Now, I could allow myself to buy some meat or vegetables rather than just bread.

Heh, who knows, perhaps there are boiled crème treats on the menu tonight.

 **Footnote: This will most likely end up slow-burn gay, I tend to do that. Meanwhile, tell me what you think about this chapter! Am I dragging things out? Do you want more action, more interaction, more bandits? I swear, there will be plenty bandits and hags and mysterious Dwemer technology in the next few chapters.**

 **Want a peek or three?**

 _On another note, I now need to play hide and seek with a ghost and possible threat in the middle of the night…_

" _Why the fuck can nobody in this damn city solve their own problems?"_

 _I could forge armour out of that. "…You're kidding."_

 **Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. I find it weird how nearly entire proverbs disappear just like snap. 'Curiosity killed the cat' sounds kind of depressing, poor cat. Anyway, review if you want!**


	5. Burning ice

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimers: see chapter 4.**

 **Chapter warnings: Prying into other people's business is bad for your health.**

 **Enjoy the chapter!**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _Heh, who knows, perhaps there are boiled crème treats on the menu tonight._

Chapter 5 – Burning Ice

The Inn is stuffed to maximum capacity and then some, every seat taken and there are still people leaning against the walls or just standing around. _Forget the treats – It's far too busy._ "A bowl of whatever's on the menu tonight." I chuckle at the owner's haggard but happy appearance. What's on the menu ends up to be vegetable soup, and I swallow it down quickly, letting it warm my stomach as I observe the people around me making merry. _Is… Was my uncle just like this when he went out in the evenings?_

I haven't seen Ondolemar since I got here, he's at the Thalmor embassy, not in the city. Other than Beirand, I don't know any of the people here at all… It's kind of lonely, sitting in the corner watching everyone else. Back in Nchuand-Zel, Mellte would always drag me into the middle of the festivities, where he'd dare me to dance or drink or charm a lass into doing either of the aforementioned activities with me and Mellte. That often did not go as well as just having fun with the two of us and some other friends. Mellte…

So distracted I am by my own, quickly derailing train of thought that I barely take note of the person leaning against the wall next to me. "Rough day?" I startle, sharply glancing at the burly man… Nord, carrying a giant war hammer across his back. He has bits of food stuck in his beard, but doesn't smell of dirt as a slobby man would – I suppose he just ate. "Not really. Kept myself busy enough." I answer vaguely, letting him fill in the blanks with whatever he may conjure. _Probably thinks I got into a fight. Most of these people seem to find that a go-to activity to fight boredom… Heh, 'fight' boredom. I'm terrible._ He grunts, crossing his arms across his chest. "Don't we all? I'm Benor. Came here from Morthal since there ain't much to do there. No travellers willing to hire. No travellers at all, more like. War's been hard on everyone." I hum noncommittally, since I haven't seen much of the war's effects yet.

"I'm from Markarth. My name's Fjaldi dû Bthardamz. Most people call me Fjaldi." He snorts. "More like most people can't pronounce that last name o' yours." I snicker along with him. "You may be right. So, Morthal? I'm headed there." He stares at me incredulously. "What in oblivion are you gonna do there?" I shrug, looking away from the man at a pub fight that breaks out and is just as quickly broken apart, courtesy of a stern-looking woman barking some threatening words. "I'm a blacksmith without a forge. So I wander." I eye him and his weapon. "If you have nothing against a travel companion, I can join you on your way to Morthal. I need no protection, but a somewhat friendly face might go a long way at keeping the spirits up in the dreary marches."

He laughs out loud, clapping me on the shoulder with enough force to send a horse stumbling. As it is, I nearly fall flat on my face, a quick grab of my hand against the wall preventing it. _Ah, his breath reeks of mead._ "Somewhat friendly, he says…" a pause as the Nord takes a long swig of his mead – I can barely read the label from this angle, but I can read 'black-b'. I wonder if it differs from Honningbrew. _Would uncle have likes it? Maybe Ma. She preferred bitter over sweet._

"Fine. Don't expect me to have your back if things get tough, you ain't paying me after all. See you in two days, at the gates. Sunrise. You not there, I'm going alone." I nod along, before realising that he can't see that with how he is eyeing the… assets of one of the barmaids. _That's… disgusting… Is it another one of those human things I don't get?_ "Good enough." I paid ahead for tonight, and I'm glad I did. My room is plain, not like the more luxurious ones meant that cost a higher fee, but I HAVE a room, at least. I also share it with an Argonian who's here in an errand from Windhelm – which I know because Vinius told me so, not because I exchanged words with the guy.

Even now, he's silent as he moves through the room, dropping his worn hide boots and crawling under the covers, facing away from me. Well, his business is not mine. I lay down, the steel dagger I carry shoved under my pillow just in case. A habit I've been trying to cultivate, since I've been told that being murdered in one's sleep is not a rare commodity in these lands… Thanks to that curious Dark Brotherhood, who hail **Sait'iss** and call him Sithis, who listen to some woman's corpse rather than the **Father of Death**. I close my eyes and listen to the commotion in the tavern below me. A thought for another day. _Ma would have straight up hauled a Warhammer around to intimidate any would-be assassins away._

The festival, I spent walking along the streets, showing the Dwemer game of **hopscotch** using a piece of charcoal, to the amusement of the small gaggle of children around me. Before long, an entire hopscotch-parkour is created, nearly every brat in Solitude hopping along the scribbled, wonky squares. Even some of the adults join in. They call the game 'hop-a-leg'. Close enough, I suppose, grinning at the exasperation of the watching vendor as I buy an apple to sate my stomach for the moment. _Mellte would love this._ I would think that only playing tag all day gets boring. I also talk with Beirand for a while, meeting his wife Sayma and understanding why the poor guy was happy for a stranger's help to be on time for dinner.

A fierce woman indeed. _Just like Ma._

I decide to take the day by each moment as it comes, enjoying the taste of the mead, the colours of the decorations, the laughter of the children, and the merriment in the eyes of the men and women. Speeches are held, the bards from the college make music that dances through the streets. It's nice, and the whole city gathers in front of the Blue Palace to count down to midnight.

I don't attend that particular part of the festivities. I retire early - luckily still able to use the same bed since many choose to leave on the same day at the turning of the year – and spent my evening staring out the dirty window, sipping a glass of wine and reminiscing on the radical changes turning my life upside down. Still, my spirit soars higher than it has in weeks, since the turning of the year is a symbolic mark of change – of starting anew, beginning from 'zero', the world moves on as it always has, and I will move along, and see where the world can take me, what it can offer.

A deep breath, and a small smile and a prayer on my lips. An old blessing, from the very beginning of Dwemer society. It's tradition for the king to end his speech to the people with these very words at the turning of the decade. It fits here, too. Softly, as if not to wake anyone even though I'm alone, I whisper the words into the night, feeling an odd sensation of peace settle over me as the stars wink back at me.

 _Ma… Mellte… I don't know where your souls are right now, but I hope you're watching over me._

…

"And here I thought you weren't gonna show!" Benor calls jovially, waving at me with his hammer even as I pick up my pace to a jog to catch up with him. "Sorry, had to say goodbye to Beirand and he didn't exactly appreciate being woken up." I snigger at the man's bedraggled appearance and the way the corners of his eyes seemed to droop when I said I was leaving.

The road to Morthal is fairly uneventful, and part of me is happy to leave Solitude behind. The city, I'm sure, has much to offer, but not for me, not at this time. Perhaps in a year I might return and find what I'm looking for then. _Would be a lot easier if I knew what I am even looking for._

Benor proves to be amiable company, and a good man, if a little careless with his intake of mead and his… personal hygiene. _Sweet forges, do these primitives even know what a BATH is? Not that these marches give many opportunities, the waters reek of fish and fungi and… I don't want to know._ The city of Morthal is anything but impressive, as dreary as the marches around it, and the people speak in hushed voices. The smell of ashes is in the early morning air. I frown as I take a deep breath, seeing a plume of smoke rise above the sparse buildings. I leave Benor as the man starts talking with some of the other men around, eyeing another Nord as he walks by with hunched shoulders.

"Not often we get strangers in the city." A man in guard uniform says, and I stare after the oddly depressed and slightly swaying person for a few seconds more before turning to him. "Aye, indeed. I just arrived when the smoke drew my attention – dare I ask what happened?" I gesture vaguely at the aforementioned smoke billowing in the cold wind. The air here is heavy with moisture, but even if I wanted to, I couldn't ignore this perfectly clear example of why wooden houses were a bad and outdated idea… over three thousand years ago as well as now. _Uncle would burst a vein._

"Ah yes, terrible, what happened." The guard says, seemingly happy for a chance to share some gossip even as I sense the pity wafting off him as he glances at the man that caught my attention earlier. "There was a fire last night, two people died, a mother and a child. I probably shouldn't be saying this, but that man that just walked past? Hroggar? Rumour has it he started the fire himself, since today he immediately moved in with Alva. Aint right, to move in with a new flame the day after your wife and child pass. The jarl wants someone to look into it, but everyone knows everyone here, so she probably won't get very far." I frown pensively. Somehow, I doubt the man set the fire, something about this just… doesn't feel right. _What would ma say..?_

…I should probably stay out of other people's business, but as I thank the guard and move closer to the smoking remains of the house and catch a whiff of burned flesh, I bite my lip harshly and turn sharply towards the Jarl's longhouse. _Children are the greatest good in Nirn, things like this would have seen immediate and thorough investigation back home. Damn primitive humans not even -_

The doors open with a small creak, and I nod respectfully to the guard standing next to it even as I try and at least walk calmly to the throne at the other end of the room, though my eyes surely burn with emotion. I'm curious, a trademark that I got from my father. My preservation instincts tell me to stay away from this tragedy, but my mind and heart both agree that something about this is wrong, and I should do what I can to help, even if it means walking on thin ice with the locals and most likely running into danger.

"I don't think we'll get very far even if we set every guard in the hold on this case." The woman sitting in it is telling a younger woman, who stands with crossed arms and a deep scowl. "But, Helgi died in that blaze, mother! We cannot let this go unpunished!" The older woman sighs deeply, rubbing her temple. Neither of them have noticed my approaching yet, so I stay silent and listen in. "First there's the issues surrounding Falion, poor chap did nothing wrong, and now this? I cannot arrest anyone based on rumours and hear-say, you know this!"

Then, she catches sight of me, and I bow shallowly, not bothering to show any more respect. "Madam. My name is Fjaldi, I recently came here from Solitude. I was told of the fire and came to see if there was anything I could do to help..?" The woman leans back, her head resting on a hand and the other hand's fingers slowly tapping a rhythm on the armrest. The younger woman smiles beatifically at me, before clasping her hands together. "Perhaps the divines listened to my plea after all… But honestly, what can _an elf_ do?" She mutters lowly under her breath, clearly not meant to be heard though my pointed ears are far more sensitive than a human's. _Is she seriously saying that as if I'm the inferior one he… No. No. I shouldn't think like that, Da would be appalled._

 _But they make it so damned easy…_ Whispers a small voice in the back of my head as I try to tear my narrowed eyed away from the young woman.

"So, life has brought you here, to Morthal, and then to me. What purpose this serves, we will no doubt see. First of all, welcome to my city. Hroggar's house fire, you mean? My people believe it to be cursed now. Who am I to gainsay them? But yes… I could use someone to investigate. If you wish to try and cast light on the truth of the situation and prove whether or not Hroggar is innocent, be my guest. Should you prove anything, I will of course reward you."

I can only nod, inwardly seething. _How dare she think I'm only doing this for coin? A child's death cannot go unsolved. Mellte would punch her in the face, woman or not._ I make my way back out of the building, making a quick stop at the inn for some fresh fruits. The knapsack I purchased in Solitude is apparently enchanted to hold more than one could originally put inside. It's very helpful, though it still baffles me that I could put an entire set of steel armour inside, if I wanted.

The house is still smouldering, and I stay clear of the walls. Slowly, I approach, aware of the eyes of the guards and a passing villager as I enter the 'cursed' remnants of the home. I look around, before taking a few steps back in surprise at the – the – the ghost? The translucent, floating, blueish-white shape of a girl in a simple dress, her eyes glowing as if using the Calling even as she stares right at me. "Hello..?" I ask cautiously when she doesn't make any moves to attack. _That's it. This is the point where Ma would draw her weapon and start hunting down the responsible bastards._

"Sorry, daddy says I'm not allowed to talk to strangers. Are you a stranger?" She asks, and then it comes to me in an unsettling realisation – This ghost-child must be the child that died in the fire, Helgi, was it? "I'm a friend. Do you know how your house burned down?" A rather insensitive question, I wince even as I listen carefully and am invited to play hide and seek with her and… 'the other one'. Now, I'm no scholar like my father was, nor was I the smartest child in class back in Bthardamz, but that 'other one' sounds like bad news… perhaps even the perpetrator.

On another note, I now need to play hide and seek with a ghost and possible threat in the middle of the night. I'd better catch some sleep now, since the journey here tired me out plenty, before tonight. _Maybe I'll have some time to sharpen my axes, though I haven't seen a grindstone around yet_. Maybe the barkeep can help me out – to figure out what creature I might find, that only walks after the sun has disappeared below the horizon.

 **A/N: See y'all next time, whenever I feel like it, I guess. Feel free to tell me what you think! Also, barkeeps in Skyrim are terrible gossips, and I HATE that I cannot exploit that more by having them track down any misc. quests without me harassing every villager. What do you think, would it be a good idea to put that in a game, or do you rather search out every minor quest on your own? Might be a Mod idea.**


	6. This Bites

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Ignorance should be a crime. I mean, look at America. Who even needs to know about Climate change, right? (no offense)**

 **Enjoy the chapter! Ps I think this will be the standard for now, no need for page-long A/N's. Unless I have something important to say. Such as, I'm moving next week so I might miss an update or two whilst I get settled in!**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _On another note, I now need to play hide and seek with a ghost and possible threat in the middle of the night. I'd better catch some sleep now, since the journey here tired_ _me out plenty, before tonight. Maybe I'll have some time to sharpen my axes, though I haven't seen a grindstone around yet. Maybe the barkeep can help me out – to figure out what creature I might find, that only walks after the sun has disappeared below the horizon._

Chapter 6 – This Bites

As I sit at the bar, the Redguard woman that keeps the inn takes in my appearance and promptly puts down a bottle of ale in front of me. "I don't know what happened in the hour that you've been gone, but you look like you've seen a ghost." She's wary of me, as all inhabitants seem to be.

I pop open the bottle and drop some septims on the table with a chuckle at how close to the truth she is. "What creature walks these lands that can only come out at night?"

 _It sounds almost like a riddle when I put it like that._ I frown, observing carefully as the woman goes six shades of pale. She leans in closer to me after glancing around carefully to see if nobody is watching. "You're the one investigating the case of Hroggar's house, aren't you? The halfbreed?" _The what now?_ Nevertheless, I nod slowly. She draws in a sharp breath.

"Are you telling me there's vampires involved?" I narrow my gaze, my own voice also dropping to a whisper. "I'm afraid I've never faced one of these… vampires in battle. Should the creature responsible be a vampire, what do I have to watch out for and is there a way to kill them quickly?"

Jonna hisses darkly, looking nervous and scared, but determined. "They were living things once, humans or elves that caught a disease called Sanguinis Vampiris. When untreated, it turns them into vampires. You kill them like you kill any other men or mer, but… be extremely cautious! They have special abilities to enthral you, too - to bend your mind to their will. Also, they may infect you with the disease with every spell or touch. You should probably buy a Cure Disease potion at the Thaumaturgist's Hut from Lami before leaving, elf, just to be safe." I nod right away, taking the good advice and warning for what they are – a sign that I have, indeed, gotten myself in severe trouble.

After finishing my ale and paying ahead for the room, I first visit the Alchemist that has a liking for experimenting with her stock to buy two of the red bottles that might save my life. I put both in my knapsack, and when I glance up at the sky I see that it's already quite late in the afternoon.

I'm nervous, but also strangely looking forwards to the challenge. My people never back down, we endure whatever Nirn throws at us. So, I will be an example of that, and take down the 'other one', the possible 'vampire', preferably before they even know I'm there. Mellte and I had lots of practise in sneaking around. I wonder if the snow will hinder me to the point that I might as well start training all over from the start.

I take a deep breath of air, before retiring for the day, falling asleep with some trouble as my body has adjusted to the 24-hour solar cycle all the surface-dwellers follow, and it's not late at all. I manage, though, and when I rise from the hay mattress, I walk out the door with a small nod at Jonna, who is now carrying a steel dagger on her hip. I don't draw my axes just yet, but I go to the abandoned house, before walking up the hill behind it where Jonna pointed me the girl had been buried. It's my best bet.

All manner of small animals chirp even in the dead of night, and my eyes get used to the dull red and blue glow cast on the land by the large twin moons above me. I stick to the shadows, keeping my breathing steady and soft. Every step makes the same small noise of cracking snow, and I curse the white dust in my mind. It can compromise my cover faster than any mistake I make ever will. Nevertheless, I draw my axes with a zing, approaching the location of the grave and spotting a figure dressed in black, leafing through a book and chanting words over the half-uncovered coffin, several sizes too small for an adult.

 _Helgi… Is it desecrating Helgi's body?_ I want to growl, but settle for a dark grimace as I aim carefully. I only have two axes, but I've mastered them faster and better than any other steel or bow I've ever gotten my hands on. A moment later, Dwemer gold sings through the air, and the thing – woman, vampire woman – screeches but isn't fast enough to dodge as the sharp blade of my axe buries itself in her skull, between the eyes, with a _crack_ that has me gag instantly. I hold my other axe in front of me defensively, jumping at every sound and twitch of the darkness around me, but no other enemies are forthcoming.

I stare at the child coffin for a few moments, before silently uttering a prayer to Sithis, that he may protect her soul as it traverses the Void to go wherever other good humans go. The vampire, fangs gleaming in the moonlight, is dead as can be, even as I pull my axe out of the skull and clean it in the snow nearby. Part of her body crumbles into ashes, but most remains intact. "You found me!" The airy voice of Helgi echoes all around me. "I knew you would!" She goes on to explain how cold she was, and I hold my heart as it hurts for her – the poor thing. She can't even find peace yet, can she? Stuck to this plane until proper revenge has been wrought.

 _But this vampire woman…_

A torch approaches, a man yelling. "Laelette!" It's Thonnir, I see as he comes close enough to see the chaos. "My own wife… A vampire!" He's besides himself with grief. I watch dispassionately as he crashes down to his knees in front of her, caressing her face. I would be aghast too, had I lost my spouse, even though I'm technically not even allowed to marry yet. I've seen this sort of grief only once before… on my mother's stricken face. I bite the inside of my cheek. _It won't do to dwell on memories when in dangerous places._

"Do you know more about this?" I ask after the man has spent several minutes staring listlessly at his wife's corpse. "She… She last visited Alva. They became fast friends a week or so ago. Alva said she ran off to join the Stormcloaks… In fact, the night she disappeared, she was supposed to meet Alva, but Alva said she never showed up. Oh gods, what do I tell my son now?" He stutters feverishly, running a hand through his tangled hair. I think about it for a few moments. "Do you think… Alva may be a vampire, as well?" I ask delicately, since the facts seem to point at it. Which would mean that Alva is involved as well, not just this Laelette woman, and that means this plot is bigger than a mere house fire.

"There's … Wait, you think _Alva_ might be a vampire? You damned half-bred bastard! No! I refuse to believe it! Not Alva! Laelette must have met her fate in the marshes. Alva cannot be involved in this." I'm slowly getting annoyed by these people. First, they refuse to enter a ruined house because someone died in it, then they're incapable of investigating. Then, when someone does come along to solve their problems for them, they refuse to believe the evidence! _No wonder they still can't built something as simple as a bathtub with running water, or a steam-powered heater. If I ever buy or built a house here, I'll buy a proper stone structure on solid ground, and make my own damn bath. I'm already sick of using buckets… Or washing up in a river where everyone can see._

Speaking of which, this corpse might be evidence, but it still doesn't explain the house fire. I… I need to find a way to access Alva's house. Isn't that Hroggar staying there as well? The one who people suspect because he moved in with a different woman the day after his wife's death. I can see that possible motive to burn down his house, but it just doesn't add up with these findings and Laelette. I join Thonnir as he walks back to the village, the torch shaking violently and the man obviously still distressed.

I'll have to think on this. _Preferably after a good night's rest_. It's a good thing I have a dagger to put under my pillow – vampires are out and about at night. _Though Laelette wasn't really a challenge._ Tomorrow, I'll contact the jarl to see if I can get a guard with me during my investigation, and I'll also have to see if I can get legal access to the house… Or if I have to wait another day, sneak out at night once again, and put my skill at lock picking to use.

…

"You believe Alva might be involved?" I nod, keeping my stance firm as I stand in front of the Jarl of Hjaalmarch once again. I clear my throat, happy that Jonna had given me another ale on the house after extracting the promise that I'd kill every vampire I found. "Aye, that I do. I visited Helgi's grave last night, searching for a possible clue. I found the coffin half unearthed, and a strange woman clad in black. It turned out to be the vampiric remnant of one… Laelette. Thonnir's wife? He followed me and identified her corpse." I report, seeing the woman in front of me seemingly age ten years with her severely troubled expression. "And how does Alva fit in all this?"

I take a deep breath to steady myself, dearly hoping that I wouldn't warn Alva into running with this. "She was supposed to meet Alva, the day she disappeared. Now, she's back, as a vampire, with Alva saying she joined up with the Stormcloaks despite also claiming Laelette never showed up at her house." I bow shallowly. "I ask your permission to search her house immediately. If she has nothing to hide, she will have no problems with this." The jarl frowns pensively. "I cannot give you such permission, unfortunately. But I will alert my guards to not attempt to arrest you should you trespass."

I feel my hands trembling at potentially facing a more powerful vampire than Laelette on her own turf, but I nod. This is probably the most I can get out of the Jarl before proving Alva's involvement. Stone cold proof is something I normally approve of, but I'd rather not they receive it in the form of my stone cold _corpse_.

I exit the longhouse and immediately make my way to Alva's house. The door is open, and I open it but ensure that I'm not seen. I hear a confused "What..?" Inside before the tell-tale sound of a weapon being unsheathed follows. Hroggar storms out of the house, I recognise him as the man who had looked so depressed only a day ago. When he sees me, he roars and attacks. I barely manage to duck at the unexpected attempt at my life with a loud cry of alarm, catching the attention of the guards even as I weave and dodge more swings of the huge hammer he carries.

Eventually, the guards come up to us and put the human in chains, after aiming several arrowheads into his legs. Hroggar's eyes are unfocused, I notice with a start. _Is this the sign of a vampire's thrall?_ I enter the house, finding nothing in direct sight. Strange… Alva wasn't out in the village, as far as I saw. Which is also odd, considering it's the middle of the day and pretty much _everyone_ is out at this time of day. The door to the basement looks anything but inviting, but I open it anyway, drawing my axes as I descent into the dark.

A short, bloody fight and a Cure Disease potion later than quenches a thirst that I hadn't even really noticed I had, I walk back out of the door, pale-faced, aching from the fresh, stinging burns on my arm, and a walking speed and severity that has the confused guards step out of my way rather than attempt to at least stop me. The red notebook in my hand feels heavy as a ton of gold, even as I present it to the Jarl and it is taken from me, the weight does not seem to leave.

"Alva was responsible for the fire." Are the first words out of my mouth, the first words anyone speaks after Jarl Idgrod and her Steward have both read the ominous little notebook. "I do think this is enough to warrant a follow-up investigation. Perhaps the guards might look further into it." I suggest hesitantly, not liking the look of Idgrod's face.

…

" **Why the fuck can nobody in this damn city solve their own problems?** " Are the words that leave my mouth in a single breath once I'm outside once more, this time with the assignment to pretty much singlehandedly clean out a vampire coven. _Do I really look like a sellsword THAT much?_ I glare at the guards as they stare at me confusedly. "What was that language? I've never heard it before." One of them asks cautiously, and I give him a toothy grin that looks unsettling if his reaction to grab for the sword at his hip is anything to go by. "Nobody's spoken it in centuries. Not surprising that you've never heard."

I grin even wider at his widened eyes, though my expression is far from kind, and not wasting anymore words I look at the assembled villagers. "All right, let's head to that cave they're holed up in." I follow after them as they walk down a dirt path right out the city, holding knives and iron swords, not even wearing armour, and all in all not looking dressed for the occasion. I tilt my head as we reach a cave, the bloodstains and parts of corpses casually strewn about a clear indicator of trouble ahead.

The villagers exchange wary, uncertain glances.

"It looks dangerous…" "I think I changed my mind…" I nearly sigh.

I knew I was right about having to do this almost singlehandedly. This time, I actually sigh, and call after them: "Do me a favour and get some guards to help with the cleanup! **When that cleanup includes burying** _ **me**_ **we're going to have a real problem** …" I add cynically under my breath, fully planning to come back _haunt_ the cowards, should that happen. Only Thonnir remains, and I give him a grateful look.

"You know that entering this place in just that tunic is a deathwish right?" I ask out loud, not addressing him specifically as I dig around in my knapsack to pull out my spare leather cuirass. "Here, this try on. I assure you that it's not as uncomfortable as a dagger in your gut." He lets out a shaky sigh, but equips it with a bit of help on my part. _Wait, did I say that right? Why is their language so complex even though they seem to be such simple creatures?_

I draw my axes, and he holds up his sword. "Alright, let's go." Thonnir murmurs and we enter the cave side by side. _Here goes._ As we proceed, I feel more and more like I'm going to be sick all over the bloodstained floor.

 _I had expected maybe two or three of the damned creatures_. I have… sorely underestimated the amount of enemies and the unbearable stench of decaying corpses and blood permeating through the entire cavern. When we come across a pit filled with disgusting, fresh, stinking bodies with faces still screwed up in terror, I lose the fight with my stomach, throwing up next to a table, keeping my hand on the edge to hold myself steady.

 _Why in the mines are there so many BOOTS in this place?_

It seems to take hours, and by the time we get out I am so damn _done_ with _Morthal_ that I start making plans to leave out loud in muttered Dwemeris, confusing the tired, injured Nord I support even further as I give him my last Cure Disease potion, knowing full well that Lami does not have more to spare. I'm pissed off and thirsty where I should not be, alerting me to the fact that Thonnir wasn't the only one to catch the disease that turns people into bloodsucking leeches. After we finished, he raided their ale stock, claiming to desperately need a drink, only to complain that he was still thirsty for something.

Needless to say, after the potion does its work, he's no longer complaining. His right leg bears a deep gash, but the leather cuirass at least protected his vulnerable chest from the brunt of a dagger. He'd carry the scars for the rest of his life though. I'm not much better off myself, sporting three deep scratches from an honest-to-gods claw to the face. The burn on my arm that Alva so kindly gave me is showing the first signs of infection, and I'm sporting a few new cuts and bruises on my arms and torso, my armour not protecting me against the blunt force of a Warhammer. I'm winded, so I might have some bruised ribs, too.

I want to get out of this damned city. At least I have enough coin to last me to Whiterun… Whiterun sounds nice and peaceful. And vampire-free, which sounds wonderful right about now.

 **A/N: …But seriously, if vampires were real, they'd all be armed to the teeth (hehe) protesting against climate change since, you know, more heat and damaging sunlight.**


	7. Whiterun Steel

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Nobody has time to deal with bandits. That includes tax collectors, who have permits. Go away, nobody likes you. That said, I invite all of you to read 'Certain as Death and Taxes' by… I forgot what their name was. It's pretty awesome though.**

 **A/N: Not gonna lie – I love worldbuilding, and I love spending time carefully setting up situations so that they'll play out as I want them, where the 'setup' might take some chapters. So yeah.**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _I want to get out of this damned city. At least I have enough coin to last me to Whiterun… Whiterun sounds nice and peaceful. And vampire-free, which sounds wonderful right about now._

Chapter 7 – Whiterun Steel

I wait before visiting the jarl, dropping Thonnir off and demanding that Lami make a Cure Disease potion or else I'd come bite her once the disease became incurable. She probably doesn't like me so much anymore after that not-so-fake threat. I do take two minor healing potions, all I can afford for now. And I give one of them to Thonnir to stop the bleeding of his leg. My ribs and arm feel a little better now, and I quickly go visit the Jarl. I should see if there's a wizard with a healing spell that might cure disease… Hopefully, there is. Its two days travel to Whiterun if I make utmost haste, which I cannot when feeling continuously thirsty and nauseous.

At least Helgi thanked me before 'going to sleep'. She's at peace with her mother now, I'm sure of it.

…

The visit to the Jarl goes smoothly, and I give her a hesitant smile when she offers to name me Thane of Hjaalmarch, should I help several of her people. "I'd be honoured… My jarl, if I may ask, do you know somewhere aside from Lami's where I may acquire a potion of Cure Disease? I'm afraid the matter is quite urgent." She sits in utmost silence for a few beats, frozen to her chair. "You caught Sanguinis Vampiris whilst battling Movarth, then. For there is no other reason to ask..?" I give her a slow, wary nod, shifting away from the guard when he readies his weapon.

"FALION!" She suddenly barks loudly, calling a man in mage robes into the room. "Cure this Mer of any diseases he might have!" The man nods once, and turns to me, eyeing me before disappearing from the room and coming back with a small, red bottle that currently holds my fate. I down it the second he hands it to me, and the thirst and nausea disappear nigh instantly.

To my dying breath will I deny it, but I wilt in relief. Then I bow deeply to the two with a sincere "Thank you." _After seeing those blood-sucking cretins… No, I do not wish for such a curse upon myself. I'll slit my throat with my own axe before sinking that far into depravity._

Idgrod merely nods stoically. "I cannot have the person who saved my hold fall prey to those he saved it from even after their deaths, now can I? You're always welcome here… But the divines have foretold that your journey calls you elsewhere for now." She ends vaguely, something shifting in her gaze. _A seer? I hadn't thought any with the gift would still be alive today._

A family friend had been a seer. He's… dead now. I think. I hope not, but after thousands of years…

"Thank you, again."

There is no carriage service in Morthal, as it isn't on any trade routes. So, tonight I will rest in peace knowing no more vampires threaten this city for now, tomorrow I will go back to the cavern to take the some of the valuables and coin I spotted there, and then I'll right away leave for Whiterun hold. If I'm lucky, I might find a stream or something that isn't a quicksand pit like these marshes, and wash up before entering the city. People here have deplorable hygiene. _I want a bathtub and soap. Even my Ma's floral soap if need be. I'd rather smell like a woman than a Skeever's ass._

I talk to Jonna for a bit, telling her about my findings in the vampire's lair, where she gasps in horror at all the appropriate times and lets me drink one bottle of ale for free once more, and this time in thanks for my deeds. _Aye, thank me for massacring a bunch of people, killing Alva, and getting Hroggar arrested._ I think somewhat sarcastically. Sellsword indeed. The amount of coin I now have on my person is starting to become ridiculous, but since it's the only way of payment here, I suppose I might as well gather whatever is in the lair tomorrow.

I do just that the next day, and run into the young woman who I found arguing with Jarl Idgrod on that first day, which seemed an eternity ago. "Oh, the half-blood!" She says as I pass, before calling after me. "Hey, you, wait up a moment!" I turn on my heel, unimpressed. "Hello, Uhm, thanks again for helping us with the vampire problem. I'm Idgrod, like my mother. You see, I heard from Jonna that you were headed to Whiterun, and I wondered if you might want to deliver a letter for me. You see, my little brother has a… gift. It makes him a bit confused, and I worry about his health. Can you take this to Danica, Danica Pure-Spring? She's the priestess of Kynareth in Whiterun, you'll find her in the temple there."

After a few tense moment, I slowly take the paper from her grip. "I am planning to travel onwards after Whiterun, so I might not be able to tell you if it has been delivered for quite some time." I warn her, but she dismisses it. "For now, what's important is that it reaches her. If she thinks something should be done she'll send a courier, I'm sure. I'll just give you some coin when I see you next time then, after you've delivered the letter."

I sigh, but agree with her before starting down the road with the map I bought back in Solitude. _Eastwards first, then turn south into Whiterun hold. I can expect a few farms and maybe a fort or watchtower from what Aicantar taught me_ … And Dragonsreach is said to stand out far above the flowing, endless fields that are a trademark of the hold. I can hardly not go out of my way for a simple errand like delivering a letter.

I put away the map and keep up a steady pace through the marches, mostly to keep myself warm and awake, and not too focused on the scenery as to be alert to threats such as spiders similar to the ones that welcomed me into Understone Keep, or the Hagravens that took the life of a travelling companion, or the vampires that seem to inhabit these parts. Who knows what else is here.

 _Damn surface dwellers can't just kill anything properly, apparently. Or there's just… so many enemies. Do they spawn from Oblivion?_

Also, thieves and bandits are a common problem. Probably the reason any and all travellers are considered sellswords these days. Nobody else would be mad enough to traverse the roads on their own. There's also the civil war throwing people off track, making them cautious to leave their houses and in turn making the roads even more dangerous due to the desperation of the bandits that may usually afford to wait.

…

 _Aye, thieves and bandits are QUITE a common problem._ I think, glaring and crossing my arms as a thief jumps out from behind a rock. I let out a low growl as the Mer approaches – I admit, I've never seen an elf with such odd brown skin, like wood, before. This must be a Bosmer. "All right, hand over your valuables and I'll not kill you."

"I have no time to deal with you." I answer bluntly, drawing my axe and pouncing on him before he can even swing his dagger at my throat. Several tense minutes and a gash on my hand later, I loot the corpse for several coins and an emerald.

 _Can't they just… build a farm somewhere, do something useful?_ I sigh, dragging the corpse off the road behind the rock he jumped from. I admit, he caught me by surprise. I suppose I can't get rid of my tendency to let my mind wander when not suitably entertained. I didn't have this problem before, though, to be caught off guard by a bandit or thief – _next time I might not be so lucky. To be fair, my luck is what has kept me from death so far. That needs to change._

But travelling with Benor, and Ondolemar too… The company made it easier to keep my attention on the road. I'll need to see if anyone is willing to travel with me once I get to Whiterun. I love the freedom that comes with seeing an endless horizon all around me, but my thoughts can be dangerous without someone to drag me away from them.

 _Oblivion, before I know it, I'm so lost I wander into Dawnstar_! My supplies, for now, are refilled with a wrapped honey-nut treat and some venison chop. I don't even _like_ honey-nut treats, but I know that I'll be glad to have it tomorrow, when I'll have run out of bread. I continue on my way, not really seeing any other threats but spotting two gigantic humanoid creatures alongside huge… brown-furred beasts with large marked tusks jutting out on either side of an elongated nose. Needless to say, I stay clear of them, hiding on top of a hill and taking my chances with the wolves there rather than staying anywhere near the things.

I also spot ruins on top of the mountains, but I stay away, not feeling up to seeing more large places in shambles yet. The next day I fight a few skeletons and a necromancer near a few carved stones on a hill. I mark the place on my map, just as I marked the ruins. By midday, I come across a fort. I again mark the spot at the junction of three roads, before turning down the one that seems to lead up to the impressive building ahead. _That must be Dragonsreach. I wonder if the foundations are strong, or if they're risking collapse at this very moment._ I pass some guards, who eye me and call out warnings – "No lollygagging." What is that word supposed to mean? Aicantar never mentioned it. _To 'gag' means to… choke, right? Choke on what, what's a 'lolly'?_ I know better than to ask.

Nevertheless I walk up the path, not seeing anything of interest aside from a few farms and… are those primitive windmills? Have these people still not figured out how to properly use steam, shock magic, heat, or soul gems? I shake my head sadly.

It's awful to know that before I went to sleep, the Nedes used much the same 'technology'. Proves how far ahead my people were, though our sense of innovation in the end made… everyone disappear. _At least, that's the most likely conclusion. I should do more research once I get access to material Calcelmo didn't have – found in other Dwemer cities, most likely._

I come to a slow stop in the middle of the road, before visibly shaking myself and resolutely continuing up the road, spotting a few tents with Khajit. This must be one of those caravans that Ghorza mentioned, the ones she sold her goods to so they'd be spread across Tamriel. She doesn't seem to trust them though… I wonder why..?

Deciding that my curiosity can be sated after lunch, I let them be, though I see what looks like the oldest of the cat-people give me an equally curious look. _That's it – when I leave the city, I'm talking to them._ Whiterun has an impressive set of walls, though they can use some tips about the upkeep, since they are crumbling slightly in some places. Again, I find myself comparing the culture I grew up with to the one I'm faced with. These walls cannot be older that five hundred years. A long time, aye, but not as long as what my people managed… Or I'd be buried beneath layers of stone so heavy I could never get out.

Khajit, Redguards, Nords, Imperials… It's quite a lot to take in, and I can barely tell the races of Men apart, despite their 'differences'. I feel so old, thinking about times where there were only Dwemer and the occasional Snowmer where I lived. I greet the guards charmingly, and they let me in without much trouble, saying that they have to worry about bandits getting in. I ask another passing guard if he knows the date. "I've been out in the wilds for a bit, it's not easy to keep track of time."

He snorts, but answers anyway: "Sure thing. It's Middas, 17th of Sun's Dawn, 4E 201. Welcome to Whiterun, traveller." I smile and thank him. This place has a far more positive feel to it than Markarth, as well as Morthal and Solitude. It's calm. Peaceful even. The soft smile stays on my lips even as I walk past the blacksmith, vowing to myself to visit it later. First, I have temple to find. The marketplace is bustling with people walking to and fro, and selling their wares. I buy some fresh apples to last me a bit at the stand that sells vegetables and fruit. My purse barely feels the impact, unlike when I first worked with Ghorza to make some coin. I have several hundred, at least. Rather frustrating, I imagine, having to count them all out for a large purchase like a horse or new furniture.

Maybe if I get my hands on some paper rolls, I can use the system the Snowmer used for their coin.

The woman at the stand, Carlotta, spends some time complaining about a bard called Mikael who is bothering her with unwanted advances - _Hn… Maybe I should have a talk with that man… -_ before happily explaining how to get to the Temple of Kynareth.

The temple is quite beautifully build, I decide upon entering, the soft jingle of healing magic resounding through the place and the blue tiled floor with small, shallow water basins give the place a peaceful feeling that's even more prevalent here than in the rest of Whiterun. Does this young goddess, likely derived from Kyne, protect the city? It would explain the atmosphere.

 _This place… were it made out of stone, would it be less appealing?_

A woman dressed in priestess' robes walks up to me calmly. "Hello, child. How may a humble servant of Kynareth serve you today?" Her voice is oddly lilting, as calm as the water. "I am searching from Danica Pure-Spring. I have a letter from Idgrod the Younger of Morthal regarding her little brother's health."

"Look no further then, child. My name is Danica, I am a priestess here at the temple. Thank you for bringing this to me." She smiles gently as I hand over the letter. "Are you not too young to be out on the roads alone, child?" I clear my throat politely, though the feeling of annoyance that's rising is anything but polite. "Nay. I have seen nineteen winters. Old enough to survive." I answer, perhaps a tad sharply. Still, I give her an apologetic smile even as her eyebrows disappear below her hood. "Truly?"

I give her a small grin _. Old enough to take out a coven of vampires and receive the offer to become thane of Hjaalmarch_ , I want to say. Instead, I excuse myself to go to the blacksmith. Warmaidens'. Sounds like a place my Ma would approve of.

I push the sting in my chest away with more ease now that nearly six months have passed, but any thought of the sudden loss of my entire people still has my heart ache, and my mind whir with a dozen thoughts. What I would not give for my Ma's embrace, or a nudge from Mellte, or even a pat on the shoulder from uncle…

Maybe I can find a little peace of mind when I get my hands on some proper steel. I observe the people I pass by as they observe me in return. Most of them look rather nice, but the animosity between some of them is off somehow. Like unwilling enemies. I'll need to figure that out somehow, but not now.

Children run by as I come near the blacksmith, enjoying the familiar sounds of a hammer meeting steel. Some of the tension in my shoulders melts off when I stop to listen.

"I'm not the best blacksmith in Whiterun. Eorlund Gray-Mane's got that honour. The man's steel is legendary. All I ask is a fair chance." Is what the dark-skinned woman says when I get closer. "Legendary steel you say? I've never heard of any Gray-Mane, to be honest." She raises an eyebrow, and actually pauses with the dent she's trying to work out of a steel bracer on the workbench. I think of my own gear, and wonder if she could give me a hand repairing it. If anyone has some filled Soul gems and an enchanter, I'd enchant oblivion out of it – knowing how to enchant is both a blacksmith apprentice's first and last lesson.

 _Even if magic it mostly unnecessary when one has the proper technology to make up for it, every Forgemaster worth their salt can at least appreciate the art. Especially when it comes to life-or-death due to enhanced fire resistance on a chest piece…_

"How can you not have heard of Skyforge steel?" She asks somewhat incredulously. Leaning against one of the poles holding up the roof casually. I shrug and smirk. "Just assume I've been living under a rock for the past three thousand years. All I know is that I was taught that the quality of the steel depends not on the forge or the materials, but on the skill of the smith. Anyway, do you need a hand at the forge? I'm looking for a way to perfect my Smithing skills… only I don't have the materials to practice at all."

She chuckles. "A blacksmith, really? I saw you enter the city earlier, could've sworn you were a sellsword. Not many other folks braving the roads these days." I grumble under my breath and let out a long-suffering sigh. "Many people seem to assume that's my profession these days. Before long, I'll get into serious trouble, I just know it." She smirks at me. "Somehow, I doubt that'll be true. People will look for a strong and tall Nord to solve their problems, not a squirt like you." I let out a mock-affronted gasp, holding a hand over my heart with theatrically wide eyes. "How dare you say such a thing? But really," I continue in my normal, deadpan voice, "Need a hand?"

 **I hope you enjoyed it! Next chapter includes… Angst! Who doesn't love it? Srsly I hate myself for writing over a thousand words of pain. I want people to be happy, why can't my OC stop crying like the not-sure-what-he's-doing teen I'm trying to portray him as? At least there'll be action soon.**


	8. Impossibility in Skyrim

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4…**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Emotions. Panic attacks. Discomforted!Jenassa. Pain. Angst. Suffering. Coping with loss. Drama. Characters finally admitting that they're still a teenager who is Not Happy and Not Ready For This Shit.**

 **A/n: Keep an eye out for some foreshadowing, too ~**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _She chuckles. "I saw you enter the city earlier, could've sworn you were a sellsword. Not many other folks braving the roads these days." I grumble under my breath and let out a long-suffering sigh. "Many people seem to assume that's my profession these days. Before long, I'll get into serious trouble, I just know it." She smirks at me. "Somehow, I doubt that'll be true. People will look for a strong and tall Nord to solve their problems, not a squirt like you." I let out a mock-affronted gasp, holding a hand over my heart with theatrically wide eyes. "How dare you say such a thing! But really," I continue in my normal, deadpan voice, "Need a hand?"_

Chapter 8 – Impossibility in Skyrim…

Adrianne and I somehow just… click. _Not bad at all, not all humans are annoying or simple, it seems. Guess Da had a point after all._

Ulfberth, her husband, is a little anxious about me at first, coming close to bodily threatening me before I take Adrianne aside and, mumbling only half-coherently, explain to her that I'd sooner be interested in Ulfberth himself than her. The next morning, his disposition is a whole lot more pleasant. _I wonder why. My people have plenty of problems with my sort, why are these humans different? It bears further investigating… Though I'll probably put that off until I'm already in too deep._

I stay at the Drunken Huntsman, since Elrindir is far more pleasant than Hulda, who gives me disapproving and even disgusted looks whenever I enter the Bannered Mare. Apparently, she does not like 'Half-breeds' like myself. _They are so open about some things, but their ridiculous notions about RACE, ugh… Am I like that?_ I resolve right then and there, outside on the steps to the Bannered Mare, that I'll try to fix that. I don't want to be treated as inferior, and yet I often catch myself belittling _them_. They probably wouldn't like it either if I mentioned my opinions out loud.

Hulda and the entirety of the Grey-Mane family and Companions, or so it seems. Whenever I pass a member of the Companions as I go about my daily business, I suffer their venomous looks and honest-to-Sithis _growling_. The Gray-Mane family is more accommodating, probably because the Battle-Borns like me for the sole reason that they think I pissed off the Gray-Manes and they think I'm close enough that when I go whine to Idolaf, they'll jump to my defence in a violent manner.

 _To be fair, they'll take any excuse to mess with the Gray-Manes, so I suppose it's not far from the truth_.

Luckily for me, there's plenty of people in Whiterun who do not mind having an errand boy as well as handyman nearby to help them. Adrianne and I quickly become fast friends, and Carlotta and her daughter give me better deals and friendly conversation after a most… memorable occasion.

" _You need to leave Carlotta alone."_

" _Why, are you interested? Unfortunately for you, that fiery widow is mine. She just doesn't know it yet…"_

"… _She's a widow? A widow, supporting her daughter, and you keep on making clearly unwanted advances towards her?"_

" _I'll conquer her like a true Nord would conquer any wild beast!"_

…

The sound of a fist breaking a nose has never seemed so satisfying.

Mikael has been giving me dirty looks, but he barely leaves the Bannered Mare and I barely enter it, so I can deal. The bandages around his face since Danica and Arcadia both just happened to be 'out of healing potions' are an added plus.

Adrianne even send me up to Dragonsreach once, to deliver a Greatsword to her father. I'd had a small chat with Proventus, but I don't think we'll ever become fast friends – he is too content to remain inactive in the civil war and wait for the enemy to move first. A stupid reasoning. _One of these days, this hold will be attacked. And if his daughter's life, living so close to the gates, became an uncertainty, then what will he do?_

 _It's not my place to get involved in the Jarl's court._ I lean back in my chair, nursing a bottle of wine in the Drunken Huntsman.

I laugh along with Elrindir as he talks about a hunt gone wrong. It's evening, and I've been in the city for three weeks now, helping Adrianne and the townspeople as much as I can. It's nice to have plenty of friendly faces around, dulling the ache of loss settled deep in my soul by filling the hole my people left behind with laughter and smiling new faces. The Bosmer cleans out some tankards with a rough brush and soap, and Jenassa, the mercenary for hire that also stays here, sits on the only other barstool available, listening and nursing a bottle of mead.

Honningbrew is still my favourite. Black-Briar mead tastes like distilled swamp fungal pods. "So, Fjaldi, have any interesting stories to tell about yourself?" I snort into my drink, descending into a coughing fit.

"What kind of story?" I ask after I'm done coughing, my voice still a tad hoarse. "Well," the Bosmer scratches his chin, leaving soapy streaks behind, "Ever been on a hunt?" I shake my head, thinking deeply before – "Aye, I hunted once." I chuckle slowly, thinking back on all the blood and corpses. "It was successful, but terrible nonetheless. Not sure if it's a story to tell over some good quality mead and a warm meal."

"Nonsense!" Anoriath exclaims from where he sits close to the fire, warming up from the rain. "Terrible stories are perfect to talk about when you're warm and sated!" I grin weakly. "Well… As you know, I hail from Markarth. This particular little hunt took place in Morthal, however. I passed through there after visiting Solitude, you see? It all started with this burned-down house and the story of a young girl dying in a fire…"

As I continue to weave the story, I can tell that they believe me, which makes me happy – it's quiet unbelievable, when I think back on it. I leave out the parts where I spoke to Helgi, instead mentioning 'proof' that I found. I don't gloss over the gory facts of the vampire coven, though, nor do I lie about nearly becoming a vampire myself. I get shocked exclamations and horrified gasps, but also newfound respect… I think. I've never been one for respect myself.

"…All in all, a successful vampire hunt, I'd say." I take a swig of my nearly empty bottle. "Why didn't you shoot them with a bow?" Elrindir cries out after I'm done, and I can't help but laugh out loud. "Me? Use a bow? If I want to _shoot myself in the foot,_ certainly, friend! If you want a bowman, you need my cousin Mellte. He was brilliant. Could shoot a moving target from sixty paces!"

The three elves all exchange looks. "Was?" Anoriath asks softly after I notice the glances. I give him a humourless grin. "Was. Lost everything I had in a single night." I confess, barely above a whisper. Then I smile again. "Speaking of Mellte though, you guys should hear about the one time he and I tried to sneak away whilst my mother was still -"

 _How long have you been asleep?_

"awake." We fill the time with meaningless babble and more stories until at some point, the unanimous decision to retire is made.

That night, I once again have the oddest dream, and now I manage to remember bits and pieces.

 _A Dwemer is standing in a central chamber of some ruin I can't recognise, the corners vague and distorted, shrouded in dark blue mist. He's holding something in a death grip, standing with his back to me. All around me, machinery buzzes and hisses as he starts laughing. I try to get closer, but my body seems frozen, locked in place. I glance down to see heavy chains around my wrists, my ankles, my neck, and they rattle. "Soon…" the strange Dwemer whispers, beard heavy with clicking beads and skin a sickly grey as he turns._

 _His eyes are blinding as the sun._

I shoot up in bed and the sun is barely rising, but I know that sleep will elude me. Begrudgingly, I get up, tired and chagrined at the dream… nightmare? A deep breath. _What in the mines was that?_

Later, as I work on some scaled boots at the workbench, Jenassa approaches me. I smile at her amiably. "If you need any armour, Adrianne or Ulfberth have some good pieces inside." She crosses her arms, and I can see the muscles clearly defined under her grey skin. No doubt about it, this elf in leather armour is a warrior through and through. I'd also quickly taken note of the way she held herself and her… darker tendencies. I liked her, but I'd be lying if her undivided attention didn't make me slightly nervous when she had a particular glint in her eyes – _this_ particular glint, in fact.

"You have a warrior's soul, sera." She says first, and I frown, not comfortable with where this is going. "No. I am a smith. The son of a scholar and an **Ani** \- a craftswoman. I a way have with weaponry and armour because I have long studied the ways in which they are created." I strike the material on the bench with the exact amount of force needed, as I'd been trained not to let any disturbances ruin my work from that very first dagger. Inwardly, though… _Did I just mess up again?_

" **Only an idiot would create that which they know not the purpose of**." I add under my breath after a few good hits, the Dwemer saying fitting quite well. _I would never make a crossbow just for show, after all. Not with all those humans fighting each other._ Louder, I say: "If that was all…"

"They say you are a half breed." The Dunmer says in a low voice, and I spot Adrianne closing in from the smelter. She's back me up in a second if this turned sour. It relaxes me slightly. "Yet, I see no resemblance to any race I've seen. And I have seen all races that walk Tamriel. The closest resemblances would be Breton, Bosmer, or Altmer. But your build is too broad to be Breton in nature, even mixed. You don't have the light build, brown skin, or inborn skill in archery as Bosmer do. You are also too short and too pale to be Altmer. What are you, really?"

I take in a shuddering breath, straightening. I might lose any and all standing I've gained in this city if word got out. I'd be marked crazy or drunk, as I was back in Markarth. "I am Fjaldi dû Bthardamz." I turn to face her, knowing full well that Adrianne is within hearing range. "I am… Lost." The smile on my face is bitter. "You wish to hear the truth, but the truth you will deny." I state matter-of-factly. I turn back to the workbench, briefly closing my eyes in grief. "Leave me be, **surface-dweller**." I bite. _Stop asking._

"What was that word?" Adrianne asks somewhat hesitantly, and I instantly feel ashamed when I see her giving me a wary, distrustful look. "It means, literally translated, 'you who dwells above the ground'." I tell her, preparing myself for the disbelief and mistrust. And Jenassa will tell Elrindir, who'll tell Anoriath, who'll tell everyone at the market...

 _I don't really want them to hate me. Damn, I'm already attached? Some people show me a smidgen of kindness and I'm already attached? I need to step up my game._ I bite my lips anxiously when the expected response doesn't come. Instead, both women exchange looks of contemplation.

"A race of Mer, with the pointed ears… Who speaks another language… Who calls other races 'those who live above the surface'…" Adrianne enunciates slowly, as I sense my ears twitching and my eyes widening more and more in panic as Jenassa continues: "There's only one race I know who fits that. The Dwemer. Well, there's been crazier things in Skyrim." My breath catches in my throat as they turn on me like two children solving a puzzle door with disabled poison darts for the first time. I stand frozen, unable to tear myself away from their searching gazes.

My reaction gives me away. " _Impossible…_ " Adrianne breathes, and I can't help but flinch violently even as I drop the tools in my hands. _Impossible. I wish it were._ I force a smile on my face, feeling my chest constrict and my eyes water. "I know. Forget it." I choke out, before swiftly walking towards the Drunken Huntsman. "Wait, Fjaldi!" she calls after me, even as I pass through the doors and head straight for my room, infinitely glad for the door as I shut it without a sound and turn the lock, burying myself under the covers.

Like a child. _Screw this bullshit. I want my Ma._

When Calcelmo and Aicantar first made the connection, it hadn't hurt at all. Now… _Now… Now I'm… Gods damnit, I'm a strong Dwemer, I can't cry at every damn opportunity._ The tears flow down my face freely as I choke back my tears. I bury my face in my hands, imagining my mother's arms around me. Imagining her soft, firm touch around my shoulders only serves to make me cry harder. _I don't want to be alone again. Why did they have to find out? They're going to ridicule me and I'll have to leave and -_

Someone bangs on the door. Adrianne. "Fjaldi dû Bthardamz, you unlock this door right now young man!" I let out an almost surprised snort, quickly grabbing a cloth to stop my nose from flowing as I stare at the door, wide-eyed for a few seconds. She sounded exactly like Ma just now. "Fjaldi! Let us in, please!" She calls, sounding like she's holding back tears herself.

" **No**. You don't believe me anyway, _nobody_ I care about does, **leave me alone**!" I snap, voice muffled by the covers I wrap myself in like a watertight package of Boiled crème treats. Then I hear the second voice, Jenassa, yell something down the stairs. "Elrindir, Fjaldi owes you a new lock!" Then:

"Step aside, silly girl, let me open this." I cower even further under the blankets and furs, turning my back to them for good measure. Aicantar and Calcelmo know and believe me… But they're not even friends. More like tutors, a distant acquaintance that sees you as research material rather than a person.

I stare blankly at the wall ahead even at I hear the lock click and the door open. Footsteps come closer, and then someone is crawling onto the bed next to me, a pair of arms encircling my shoulders. "I believe you," Adrianne mutters. "Crazier things happen in Skyrim. Like – Like mammoths falling from the sky. You're barely…" She holds me in her arms somewhat awkwardly, whispering soothing words as I cry, really cry, for the first time since I got here. Skyrim is harsh. I don't like the roads, and the feeling of being vulnerable under the sky, with wild beasts and no warm baths or peace -

Jenassa stands in the door opening and seems a little awkward, but when Elrindir comes up the stairs to ask what's happened she shoos him away.

"You can trust me. I consider you a friend, Fjaldi." The blacksmith whispers softly, drawing circles on my back with calloused, scarred fingers. I turn to putty under the touch, leaning heavily into her but she doesn't seem to mind. "I went to sleep in my bed, it was just another day, nothing strange or anything." I say dully, feeling empty.

…

"Mellte and I shared a room. He was my cousin. We… The last thing we discussed was our future. Then I woke up and I was all… alone." Here, I nearly start bawling like a child all over again, but I only take a deep, shaky breath. _Be strong. Endure. Endure. Dwemer always endure hardships._

"For what it's worth, I should not have pried." Jenassa speaks after we spend a while in silence. I slowly move out of my blanket cloak, subconsciously inching closer to Adrianne, eyes half-lidded in exhaustion as she holds me. "I'm sorry for breaking down on you." I croak out. "You're the first not to dismiss it and still see me as a person." The Dunmer woman bristles. "What? Who -"

"Calm down." Adrianne sighs, slowly untangling herself from me. I must look terrible, and red-faced over my breakdown in front of these two I try to fix my hair a little, smoothing out knots and tangles with my fingers. They snicker at my expense, lifting the heavy atmosphere in the room. "You're always welcome at Warmaidens'," Adrianne offers, and I smile. "Actually, I am planning to leave in a week or so. I promised myself to see all the hold capitals before…" _Before finding a new place to call home._ They seem to understand, with that alien feminine intuition Mellte and Uncle would often debate, discuss and marvel about.

"A week? I better get your armour fixed then." Adrienne smiles, poking at a hole in the thick leather. I grimace. "Aye. I still have to ask Farengar Secret-Fire if I can borrow his enchanter and buy some filled Soul gems… if Belethor has any they'll be ludicrously overpriced."

 _Keep yourself together now. This is enough._

Adrianne nods along with me even as Jenassa crosses her arms. "You're planning to go alone? Where to?" I shrug a shoulder as I undo the clasps of the armour with Adrienne's assistance. I could do it myself, but with two people it's twice as fast a job. "Falkreath. Then I'll pass Helgen, south of here, on my way to Riften. After that, I'll see where the roads take me."

" _Alone_?" she stresses, scowling. "The roads are dangerous these days. I would not advise it. Did you travel alone before, too?" I tilt my hand in a so-so motion. From Markarth to Solitude I travelled with my friend Ondolemar. Solitude to Morthal I joined up with a man also headed the same way. But aye, from Morthal to Whiterun, I walked alone."

She scoffs, before sharply turning on her heel and leaving. I don't look at the door long – Adrianne is running off with my armour and I'm left in only a shirt and pants, barefoot. _Hold on._

"Wait! My boots! _Adrianne!_ " I yell, climbing down the stairs as quickly as I dare, still not used to the small wooden stints used to move up and down here. _Wood, why wood?_

Elrindir stops me as I'm about to walk out the door with a raised eyebrow. "I just had two very severe ladies tell me to keep you in here until you've calmed down and Adrienne returns. Jenassa is off to do… Something. She looked like it might be murder. I don't know what happened. I don't need to know either. For now, Jenassa paid ahead for you." He gestures to the fire and I shiver, only now noticing the Sun's Dawn chill creeping through the thin wooden walls and I quickly drop down near the flames, definitely _not_ pouting.

I feel a lot better than I have in quite a while, though. My gaze softens as I let the flames dance across my vision along with the elf's laughter. _Perhaps Whiterun can become my home one day, even though some people don't want me here._

 **A/N: Did I go too far? I wanted to add a bit to the realism of being thrown into a literally new world. Also, you might notice that not everybody likes Fjaldi. Well, obviously, that was something I do not like about Skyrim. Everyone wants to be your BFF. Not realistic, especially for Mer characters because… Nords. Racism. See chappie 4. I used an Altmer character once, and a Khajit, too. Did I get any crap about being Thalmor or not being allowed in cities? Nu-uh.**


	9. Does not exist

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): petty people, Siddgeir. No, I'm not talking about Siddgeir being petty, though he's like a spoiled child, much like... nvm.**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _I feel a lot better than I have in quite a while, though. My gaze softens as I let the flames dance across my vision. Perhaps Whiterun can become my home one day, even though some people don't want me here._

Chapter 9 - …Does not exist

I wake up to Adrianne nudging my side and Jenassa sitting at her usual spot, covertly eyeing us. "Here." She pushes my gear back into my hands, and I set to examining it with a trained eye, finding no flaws. Impressed, I thank her, disappearing upstairs to find that she'd taken the liberty of improving the fit of all my stuff.

I sheath my axes back into their proper places, the knife disappearing into my belt. Feeling less vulnerable now, I smile. I didn't even notice how used to the armour I'd gotten. Then, I take off everything, even exchanging the boots for the pair of cheap, plain shoes she'd included with the package. _I am very lucky, despite everything. The gods are probably taking pity on me._

I had a court wizard to visit… tomorrow, but still. I manage to stuff all the gear into my enchanted knapsack, grinning at how it all fit. Then, I return downstairs. "Thank you for improving the fit, Adrienne." I grin. She leaves soon after buying some meat off Anoriath, leaving me and Jenassa as only patrons in the Drunken Huntsman, Elrindir wiping down the counter and Anoriath leaving to go to bed early.

"How much gold do you own?"

I blink at Jenassa's sudden question, thinking about the new coin purse I'd gotten, enchanted like my knapsack is. I'd gotten the thing at Belethor's along with paper rolls. Ridiculously overpriced, of course. I frown and open my mouth, before closing it. _How much coin DO I own?_

"No clue. Enough to get by. I haven't counted since leaving Solitude." She takes a long swig of her ale. "Count. Right now." My eyebrows will disappear off my forehead if they rise any higher. Still… "If it makes you happy." I pull out the purse, and start taking out small rolls of coin held together by the rolled-up paper, carefully folded so as not to lose anything. Ten coins a roll, just as the Snowmer did.

I spent a while sitting in front of the fire, plate with grilled leeks on one side, and coins in front of me. "I have 1027 septims." I finally state, starting to put the coins back in the purse as quickly as I can, stuffing some in my old purse as well so as not to lose all my gold in one go should I be robbed. She gapes at me. Then: "I had Farengar write down the prices for filled soul gems up at Dragonsreach. You'll have enough left to pay my fee – that is, if you wish for me to accompany and protect you all across Skyrim."

I glance at her absently even as I take the slip of paper from her, making a few mental calculations. Softly, I mumble: "If I choose to use weaker, singular enchantments, I'll have 577 coins left. However, maybe if I use **soul trap whilst enchanting I can preserve part of the soul to dual enchant my boots with Muffle and a cold resistance, and strengthen my chest piece with some Light Armour enchantments, maybe I can squeeze out more of…** " I cut myself off when I realise that I've descended into babble, in Dwemeris no less. I glance up to see both elves in the Drunken Huntsman staring at me in utter confusion.

"Ah, I apologize… What's your fee, then?" the Dunmer shakes herself out of her stupor and smirks. "five hundred." My first thought at that is: _Hey, I can afford that!_ My second: _Will she even want to travel with me?_ "You know… Travelling with me might be quite boring. I get lost in thought a lot, and I'm not planning to destroy any vampire covens again any time soon." She merely laughs, the first time I ever heard her laugh.

"You, boring? I highly doubt it."

…

"You, able to enchant items? I highly doubt it."

I nearly growl at the Court wizard as he stares down at me quite literally. I cross my arms and jut my chin out in defiance. "You will sell me three filled soul gems. I will enchant my items." I tilt my head with a small sneer, even as the mage narrows his eyes at me and hands me three filled common soul gems in exchange for the amount of coin he'd told Jenassa about last evening.

"So, you're the reason a highly irate Dunmer came by asking for price lists last night." The mage comments even as I ignore him in favour of placing my chest piece on the enchanter. I knew how to add an extra effect – the trick was which part of the item you enchanted. For this piece the outside leathers will be enchanted with some Light Armour Fortification, whilst the inside trimming would soon give me an increased healing factor.

As I place the common soul gem and the items in the right places, I cannot help but think, a little vindictively: _Just you watch me, old human._

Farengar falls silent as I take my sweet time enchanting. The boots next, with the enchantments I'd thought up the night prior. Then, my bracers, Lock picking Fortification as well as ensuring a better grip and harder swing with my axes. As I finish, sweat on my brow and three destroyed Soul gems on the arcane enchanter, I grin victoriously. " _That_." I tell the mage that has stood over my shoulder the entire process. " _That,_ is how you enchant armour. The trick is Soul trap. If you were as smart as you proclaim yourself to be, you'd have taken notes of a forgemaster's apprentice at work." At that, I turn slightly sour. "Though… my uncle could have done better, I'll admit that freely."

The look on the mage's face was worth every last drop of sweat to make the enchantments as powerful as I possibly could. Once back at the Drunken Huntsman, I change into my new armour, the enchantments glowing faintly, visible only to the trained eye. I march downstairs proudly. "That old man Farengar never saw me coming." I can't help but quip as Elrindir comments on my strutting.

The Bosmer just shakes his head with a bemused expression.

I sit down eventually. "I've decided that I'm leaving in two days." I mention offhandedly. "And I've decided that I'm not feeling up to travelling all by myself." I eye Jenassa with a smirk forming on my face. "Dangerous roads, and all that."

She smirks right back. "I doubt that I need to give you my usual spiel." I lift my tankard at her. "Try me."

Elrindir chuckles from his usual spot behind the counter as Jenassa leans in closer from where she's sitting. "I am a lethal instrument, yours to command for a modest sum. I suggest you hire me before one of your enemies does." She says in a low voice, dangerous and enticing, probably meant to seduce. My eyes go wide in surprise despite myself. "Consider yourself hired." I drawl, wiggling my eyebrows, "This might be fun." _Who am I kidding? This is absolute hilarity. Not the good sort, then again, I'm not really sure what sort._

"When I first met you, you called death an art." I remember out loud. "I wonder what masterpieces you'll create with any bandits that cross our path." I add somewhat teasingly, knowing that I'm fully capable of joining in on the 'creating of a masterpiece' with my dual axes. She grins ferally. "In two days, we leave for Falkreath." I nod, finishing with counting the coins and passing them to her. It speaks of her trust in me as somewhat-friend that she doesn't check the amount.

Two days later, I'm saying goodbye to Elrindir, Carlotta and Adrienne. I give the blacksmith a broad grin and a wave as we pass through Whiterun's gate. My armour and weapons in place, my knapsack full of potions and produce, and Jenassa striding next to me.

I smile as I once again find myself outside city walls, in front of a seemingly endless world. The rush that washes over me never seems to fail putting a grin on my face.

Jenassa seems equally eager, and we quickly start moving, planning to pass through Riverwood quickly and avoid Helgen altogether, since whilst it might seem like the shorter road, it actually takes more time since the Imperial security around Helgen is so tight that it might take two days to get past the town, stay at the inn notwithstanding.

Luckily for us, we find no trouble on the road, aside from some wolves that I can deal with almost easily by now. I'm picking alchemy ingredients left and right as we walk up the path to Riverwood, listening to Jenassa's occasional comments.

One such example: "There's dungeons to traverse and crypts to explore, and you go picking _flowers._ " _I'd rather have the potions to traverse said dungeon without meeting Sithis, thank you._

"I visited Falkreath before. Death has settled in that hold, sera. I hope you're not planning to stay too long." At this, I glance at her over my shoulder. "What do you mean by that?" She huffs, but explains anyway. "Falkreath has been the site of many bloody battles throughout history. They boast the largest cemetery in all of Skyrim, though I do not know if that is something one should wish to boast about. The locals even named all their stores and tavern after death and related business." I hum thoughtfully. "That…Actually sounds pretty interesting. Does the god…Orkay? Arkay? Have a large presence there?"

"I would think so. There's a shrine to Arkay in every hold capital, though." She says after a while, and we speak no more words until we reach Riverwood's only Inn, the Sleeping Giant.

There's a surly looking man behind the bar, a woman that _definitely_ doesn't strike me as a normal civilian, the resident – and by now, I think standard – drunk, and a blonde bard that looks like a pompous prat. Much like that one Stormcloak sympathiser back in the Bannered Mare. Otherwise, it's the standard setting for a Skyrim establishment, all broad beams and oversized but necessary fireplaces.

"We got rooms and food. Drink, too. I cook. Ain't much else to tell." Says the surly man, cleaning out a tankard before grunting, "I'm Orgnar." I give him a small nod. "Do you have two rooms available?" He shrugs, eyes moving behind me to where the woman I noticed earlier is sweeping the floor.

I can feel her eyes boring into my back, but Jenassa doesn't seem to have taken note of the odd phenomena. "Need a room, talk to Delphine. She owns the place." He makes a jerking motion with his head towards the fair-haired Breton...Nord…Whatever. _Humans all look alike anyway._ I take it as an excuse to take in her appearance properly, assessing her threat level even as she looks at me unflinchingly through narrowed eyes, I can see the confusion in them.

No, this is no normal innkeeper, if she even is one at all.

Nobody who owns an inn has that many stress lines and old battle scars peeking from their sleeves and collar. I walk up to her cautiously, and by now, Jenassa is observing the blonde shrewdly, no doubt having caught on to my unease. "Two rooms for the night."

"That'll be twenty septims." I wordlessly hand over the coin, letting her show Jenassa and I to our rooms. Before she can leave, I decide to take a gamble. "You're no innkeeper." Instantly, she goes on guard, a hand twitching to her side. _No innkeeper, indeed. That's a warrior's reflex._ I give her a bland smile. "It's none of my business. Don't worry. Just wanted to test my hypothesis." I shrug off my cloak, leaning my axes against the wall in an obvious way – saying I'm not a threat to her, for now.

The food is atrocious, and I delicately take my bowl outside only to dump it in the bushes when nobody is looking. _I still have some rations left – they'll spare me stomach troubles_. I wake before sunrise, rousing Jenassa before haggling for some cheap supplies and taking off as fast as possible. The woman, Delphine, is worth more thorough investigating. But for now, I've overstayed my welcome, if her venomous, intimidating glare was anything to go by.

…

Falkreath's rich forests hold much game, but even more dangers. Frostbite spiders, bandits, thieves, wolves, sabre cats – there's no end to them, and though I can hear and see Jenassa's great enjoyment, I find myself more frustrated and paranoid at any and every of the slightest whisper of the trees. I do not like fighting at all, I only fight and kill because I must protect myself, as Ma's trainer told me. If I wanted to be a warrior, I had to find a reason to fight that was beyond myself. _I'm obviously not suited to battle, since I doubt I'll ever find such a rea – SPIDER!_

I jump aside as the poisonous web shoots towards me, even as my guard draws her blade with a bloodthirsty grin on her face. I take a few precious seconds to sigh and roll my eyes even as my axe completes its deadly arch, severing the head of a second spider creeping up on us. _Here we go again – we'll never reach the city at this pace!_

I'm proven right once more, as it takes us a week to reach a city only four days from Whiterun. By the time the now annoyingly familiar fire-hazard wooden houses come into view, the gods have decided to make our lives miserable with entire lakes' worth of water pouring down around us, making the ground we walk muddy and treacherous, limiting our sights and cloaking the world in a dull grey.

I'm grumbling a litany of Dwemer curses under my breath as I trudge through the mud, Jenassa silent as she follows a few paces behind me, catching me on the occasions that the floor decides to trip me via tree roots or slippery slopes. _This… I'm miserable. I want mead and a dry place to rest my feet._

The amusement coming off of my guard in waves doesn't help my mood any. " **By Xrib's forges, finally!** " I exclaim as I spot the gates of a city just down the road. Jenassa chuckles lowly, grabbing my arm and dragging me back up when I misstep once again in my enthusiasm, nearly falling flat on my face.

The first place I search is the Inn, to dry my feet and eat something warm, though I'm running rather low on coin. Jenassa insists on paying for her own meals, so I suppose I should count that minor blessing for my purse. She's the first to enter Dead man's Drink, looking for all the world like she's done travelling for life, weary and haggard and like a drowned cat. I'm certain I don't look much better, myself.

A bard is playing 'Ragnar the Red'. Honestly, what passes for music here would have the musicians back in Nchuand-Zel cry their hearts out – preferably in an entire two-hour Opera. No taste in music at all – the bard's college is equally ridiculous. I bet none of them ever thought of incorporating music in traps or as children's entertainment.

 _I grew up falling asleep to the soft tunes of my Ma's expert fingers caressing the strings of her harp. These humans never evolved beyond a lute!_

But I bite my lip and hold my tongue, knowing that the rain is merely making me more irritable than usual. I shake out my hair slightly, running a hand through it to get the wet strands out of my face when I catch the eye of a young lass, maybe my own age. "Shor's bones! A handsome Mer in Falkreath!"

Over by the fire, Jenassa snorts and chokes on her mead. I give the she-elf a subtle glare, even as the tips of my ears burn. A tanned man sitting at a nearby table chuckles as well. "Now, Narri, leave the poor lad be! Looks like he and his friend got caught in the storm outside." He lifts his ale at me, and I smile weakly.

"Aye, you'd think a Daedra decided to drop a lake on us poor mortals just for misery's sake." Jenassa sighs, huddling as close to the flame as a Dunmer can – meaning she'd be sitting _in it_ if not for the risk of setting her armour on fire in the process. "Oh shush, Valdr. Go hunt down a bear." The young woman, Narri, says snippily. "Nothing interesting ever comes along here. Except for that Stormcloak band two days ago. Wonder what they were doing on Imperial territory in the first place." She adds, musing to herself as she returns to her work.

I eye her curiously at the comment. _Stormcloaks? This far into Empire territory? That cannot end well. I hope Ondolemar won't be put on their case._ I frown slightly, thinking about one of my first friends, one in a very troublesome situation. _I wish I knew how to help him without getting the entire Thalmor forces on our tails. That can't be fun._

I approach the innkeeper, a woman that I try to identify _– Redguard? Must be. I don't give a Skeever's ass about her heritage, but the people here make a big deal out of it._ Giving her a tentative smile, I watch as her eyebrows rise slightly. "Welcome to Dead man's Drink, traveller." I chat with her some more, finding out her name is Valga, as well as what must be every rumour and piece of gossip around Falkreath hold.

I buy a bottle of Black-Briar mead from her, which is several coins more than it is in Whiterun, I find. The Jarl likes the type, and since I'm planning to visit every interesting building around, I might as well offer the man some _. My uncle's friends seem to have many similarities to this… Jarl._

Balgruuf, whom I haven't spoken to personally, already seems to be a lot more capable than this man I've not even met. "Jenassa?" She glances up and I grin at her, looking content as a cat to sit right where she is.

"I'm going to visit the general store to sell off those items we gathered along the way. Then I'll go to the alchemist to restock on my potion's supplies and craft some new potions. You'll find me there if you need me, as you can stay here if you want." She nods, taking a swig of her mead. "If you don't mind, I'm fine right here. If you're attacked for any reason, just yell." She waves me away, and I let out a mock-affronted huff at the dismissal, secretly glad to be out on my own for a bit.

Jenassa has redefined the meaning of 'watching someone like a hawk' for me. It's unnerving for longer periods of time. The rain still dampens my mood, but not enough to deter my steps as I search around town, finishing the tasks I'd set out for myself. The rain lets up sometime whilst I'm busy making health and stamina potions – simple recipes, but lifesavers.

I take a leisure walk through town after I'm done, visiting the cemetery briefly, but leaving right afterwards at a stray thought that makes the cold suddenly near-unbearable. _My people never got proper burials._

On my way to the Jarl's longhouse, I run into a haggard looking man, Thadgeir, who sounds so hurried and exhausted and filled with grief that I can do nothing but accept the urn and turn back the way I came, handing over the ashes of the man's precious person to the priest at the temple of Arkay, a haven of calm compared to the rest of the uneasy city.

Then, of course, fate decrees that I run into the jarl himself. The man, carrying nothing but a self-important air and an iron knife, clad in fancy clothing and wearing a bejewelled circlet far below Dwemer noble standards, stares at me for a few moments.

"Yes? What is it that you want?" He asks somewhat rudely. I raise a single eyebrow. "Do you have any work that needs doing?" He quite obviously looks me up and down, and I see the dismissal in his gaze. "Work," he says, "I demand tribute before you can even be _considered_ for any real tasks. How about… a drink? None of that local piss, mind you. Real Black-Briar Mead, fresh from Riften."

I nearly want to laugh out loud, but I settle for a shit-eating grin as I pull the bottle from my knapsack with a flourish. "Look no further. You have good taste, my jarl." _Honningbrew is better._ I think inwardly, watching the man as he takes the bottle from me with surprise all over his face. "Well… That's… Huh. Now that's something I like to see. You might be of use to me after all." He pauses as new raindrops start falling down around us. "Meet me at my hall later as soon as possible. I have a job you might be interested in."

I remain standing for a few more minutes after he leaves, wondering. _Who made this inexperienced, egocentric brat the leader of a hold?_

 **A/N: Extra early update! Why? Because I felt like it! Also I do not like the amount of drama in the previous chapter. So here you go!**


	10. Drak'nakaraat Threinmur

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Bandits. Sithis worship. DRAGON ALERT. We're finally getting some good old' magic-breathing winged lizard action. Stealing from corpses, undressing corpses.**

 **A/N: Apologies for the late update! I'm starting university and did not have time to even** _ **look**_ **at this. Anyhow, here's the next update!**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _I remain standing for a few more minutes after he leaves, wondering. Who made this inexperienced, egocentric brat the leader of a hold?_

Chapter 10 – Drak'nakaraat Threinmûr

Still lost in thought, I return to Dead Man's Drink. I sit down next to Jenassa, who side-eyes me silently. "Find anything interesting?" I pretend to think really hard, tapping a finger against my chin and glancing at the ceiling for even more effect. "Let me think… I did what I told you I'd do, and I may or may not have offered my services to the Jarl…And he may or may not have mistaken _me_ for a well-travelled Sellsword. Chances are, we'll be hunting down some sort of trouble."

 _How does this always seem to happen to me?_ I can't help but think as the woman laughs loudly, startling the other occupants of the inn. She mockingly salutes me, the grin on her face nearly splitting it in half. "Lead on then." I groan, making myself a tad more comfortable. "No way, it's raining again, I'm _not_ going outside. Not even if you paid me."

…

Five minutes and more loud laughter and muffled giggling later, I'm outside in the pouring rain once more, heading to the Jarl's Longhouse agitatedly, an entirely too amused Jenassa on my heels. _Damn these stubborn surface-dwellers._ The doors open easily, a sign of richness around these parts, and I walk up to the jarl without much preamble. "So. The work?" He smiles easily, but there's a glint in his eyes that reminds me of Mellte whenever he thought up one of his infamous pranks.

"Ah, of course. Couldn't wait?" He asks, raising an eyebrow, and I gesture vaguely at my companion, trying not to appear as chagrined as I feel. "Not all of us can be patient." The Jarl of Falkreath nods solemnly. "Indeed. Well, down to business then." He says, moving to his throne and seating himself with a huff - taking his sweet time to sit down properly on the plush cushions. I don't need to turn around to visualise the snarl on my Dunmer companion's face.

"There's a group of bandits in my Hold that I… may have had some discreet dealings with. The cut they were giving me was good at first, but now it's time to clean things up. Your job is to go and take care of it."

Jenassa is silent, but the anticipation brimming in the air around us is nearly tangible, and with a start, I realise they're all waiting for me to speak. "It will be done." _How… uncouth. I was right about this man. As much as I'd like to think there's more to these humans than the eye can see, I find it's still hard to believe. Primitive, uncouth, living in the forest in wooden houses and tents and caves and… Well. Is it even worth lingering on? When I'm stuck with the same… let's call them 'accommodations'?_

"Good." And with those charming parting words, we're off to a… Knifepoint mine. "Charming name." I comment lightly while we walk, part of me happy to be back on the road despite the rain. I'm also _desperately_ hoping that the odd thumping, like a giant, hollow heartbeat underneath my feet, is a figment of my imagination. Jenassa is quiet until we've walked far enough not to hear it anymore, and both of us let go of the hilts of our weapons for a moment. "Also, I vote against disturbing whatever that was. I mean… I'm not the only one who heard that, right?"

She nods grimly. "Agreed. And no, I heard it, too." We move on quickly, not even stopping as the night falls. After a few more hours of moving in the dark, Jenassa stops abruptly. "You're tired. I can hear your panting from here." I'd been lagging behind her for the past five miles or so, and I down a stamina potion rather than answering.

"I may be tired, but you are not. I can keep going. We'll rest in the morning." She grunts, but we move until I spot the rising light – dawn. Almost immediately after, I point out a nice camping location, and Jenassa takes first watch while I collapse onto my bedroll and pass out for a few hours. After she's also rested up a bit, we're off again, reaching the mine as the evening once again falls.

I find myself crouching behind some rocks as Jenassa readies her bow, nocking a steel arrow as we exchange glances.

The bandit camp ahead of us, I should have seen coming. Now that we're here, however, I'm decidedly nervous. "I'm all for returning to Whiterun after we get this over and done with." I mutter under my breath, and she only gives me the barest of glances. "Really now? What a bore." I roll my eyes. "What's the plan?" I whisper, and she answers readily, unknowingly – or perhaps knowingly - teaching me a few things along the way of her explanation.

"Simple. See the huts? Those sizes can only house two people, at most. We're dealing with eight to sixteen bandits, since it's unlikely many more hide out in the mine, as all their equipment seems to be outside, like the alchemy labs. They built those inside whenever the air is liveable enough. I take out the archers first. You take the three by the main area while they're still distracted. I'll pick off the others as quickly as I can, then I'll join you and we take on the mine. We leave no survivors. Clear enough?" I swallow thickly.

 _Three bandits all for me, oh goody._ "As flawless Diamonds." I say instead, voice wavering ever-so-slightly.

She sighs, silently clapping me on the shoulder. "If you can take care of yourself with bandits on the road, then you can handle a camp. Probably could do it on your own. Now, you're doing it knowing I have your back. Do as you've been doing. Strike without mercy." I nod slowly.

 _No, I'd say I'm not suited to a warrior's life at all. Can't wait until I find a home and am able to settle, to maybe own a forge of my own._

I move forwards as quickly and silently as I can, my muffle enchantment put to good use as I get as close to the main gate as I dare. "Hey, did you hear that?" My heart skips a beat and my eyes desperately try to search for Jenassa, but she's disappeared. Before I can clam up and panic, a faint whizzing sound reaches my ear, followed by a spluttering cry as a bandit on the other side of the camp goes down.

As one, the scoundrels draw their weapons, facing away from me as they start moving towards the possible threat with cries of alarm and rage. ' _Strike without mercy_ '. **Sithis guide my axe, then.** I jump from my hiding place, not daring to utter a war cry as I pounce on my target, my blade sinking deep into the flesh of his neck before the other two can even react.

They turn to me, iron blades raised high, and I cannot help myself: "You call that scrap metal _weaponry?_ "

Enraged, they convene on me, and then it's a matter of ducking, dodging, swinging and twirling my axes around my body, blocking and parrying and _holy shit INCOMING,_ my Dwemer metal singing through the air, sparks flying off when they collide with the weaker metal blades.

One of the iron blades cracks into pieces at a particularly lucky hit on my part, and the man holding it has no time to do anything but stare incomprehensibly before I bury an axe in his chest. I flinch at the dark liquid flowing down my arm in rivers, but my heart seems to soar above the clouds. _Since when am I like this?_

There's no time to ponder and philosophise, however.

" **Have a taste of some proper Dwemer craftsmanship, bastards!** " I cry ferally, locking away the unease to deal with at a more opportune time, facing down the last bandit – when two more jump out of their tents, one of them carrying a wickedly sharp steel mace. " **Sithis' balls.** " I curse, taking a hurried step back to dodge a swing before cutting down the last of the original trio of scum.

That's about the moment where Jenassa honestly joins the fray, and eventually, there's nobody but us left standing. "We can loot this place later." The Dunmer says absently, far more interested in the entrance to the mine. I nod along easily, before pausing. _Loot?_

… _Oh._

 _I suppose dead men need no riches._ I roll my shoulder, where I'd been late to dodge a dagger. Fast and nasty things, if used properly. Quickly reaching into my pack, which had stuck to my back securely during the fight, I pull out a healing potion, downing it before offering a second one to Jenassa, who sneers at it.

"Unlike you, this is nothing to me." I frown faintly at her. "I'm a craftsman. Not a warrior. You knew this before we even set foot out of the Drunken Huntsman." _I'm not a primitive savage._ I bite the inside of my cheek harshly. _Damnit, think of how disappointed Da would be if I dismiss these… cultures so easily. They… Have their reasons..? I think._

She shrugs, not noticing or not caring for my inner turmoil. "Fair enough. Now, let us continue. I saw no leader of any sort – meaning he's in the mine." Weapons still drawn, we descend into darkness.

The bandit chief is more of a challenge than the others were, but I keep her busy long enough for Jenassa to stick a dagger in the woman's neck. "Wonderful." I sigh at the arterial spray now covering my front. The Dunmer raises an eyebrow, unrepentant.

"The rain will wash it out." I roll my eyes, not deigning myself to speaking another word until we get the more nasty part of the clean-up over with. _I'm becoming an expert at holding back my gag reflex._

We split the coin evenly, and argue about the rest of the loot: Jenassa upgrading her steel sword for an orcish one and I take a few potions and all the gems I can find. I don't stay to watch whilst the Dunmer woman helps herself to the steel plated set of armour the bandit leader was wearing.

Once the warrior elf emerges, looking even fiercer than before, we return to Falkreath at a much easier pace, to my relief, with our purses heavy and our steps light.

…

"We killed them all. Is there anything else you need, my jarl?" I ask, hiding – and failing to hide - the impatience in my voice. Jenassa was right once again, as the rain had washed away every last droplet of blood on our bodies. The visible parts, at least, and only because of the severity of the downpour.

Siddgeir observes me silently for a few beats, before his gaze shifts to the man standing beside him, who only nods shallowly in agreement to… _something_. And whose name I don't even know. The Jarl clears his throat imperiously before speaking.

"There is room in my court for a new Thane. It's an honorary title, mainly, but there are a few perks someone like you could make use of. However, I could only grant the title to someone who is known throughout my Hold. You help my people, and I'll make you my Thane." My eyebrows disappear into my hairline. _Well, this is most unexpected._

I quickly glance at Jenassa, who nods encouragingly. "It… would be an honour, my jarl." I say in lieu of an answer to his demand. He grunts, leaning backwards in his chair. "Off with you then." _What in the name of molten rock is a 'Thay-ne'?_

We leave the longhouse in silence. "I can scarcely believe it," Jenassa mutters, looking me over. "To be offered the title of Thane is a great honour. I'm helping you get it. Meanwhile, don't you even _think_ about returning to Whiterun." I nod slowly, still not quite believing it.

 _A great honour? For what? Killing some bandits? The surface world sure is weird. To gain any title back home, you'd have to do something drastic, like, 'preventing an assassination attempt on the King'-kind of drastic._

The next two weeks are suddenly full of plans to help the locals with their problems, and whilst I'm not too sure if I even want to become a Thane, I do admit that it's quite the learning experience – from farming to chopping wood to hunting down more bandits to retrieving lost objects, Jenassa does everything in her power to make me drop onto my bedroll dead tired by the end of the day – and in the case of hunting down bandits, in the middle of the night or even early morning.

The same dream keeps me up at night: A Dwemer, doing _something_ while I can't even move, and I've still not seen the object, or the exact features of the room beyond the platform I'm always shackled to.

It sours my mood. But nightly phantoms are no reason to just stop being productive. _Endure. Fjaldi, endure as your people have always done._

By the time we get back to Falkreath, the jarl has already heard of my exploits. I'm given a honed steel 'Blade of Falkreath' with a basic fire damage enchantment and the title of 'Thane'. _Apparently, people here in Skyrim assume I'm a criminal as well as a sellsword – what other reason is there for explicitly mentioning that I can convince guards to ignore… 'Questionable' behaviour?_

I do Valga a favour by telling her about my new title before anyone else can find out. The woman is delighted, and gives me a bottle of Black-Briar mead as a gift. I haven't suddenly acquired a taste for Black-Briar mead due to Siddgeir, though, and so I subtly pass it on to a bemused Jenassa. Who follows me dutifully and amusedly when I tell her in no uncertain terms that ' _we're going the fuck back to Whiterun whether you like it or not_.'

We wave the locals goodbye with a smile that I don't even have to force, as I've grown quite fond of some of the people here, despite their… naming tendencies. I hope the road back to Whiterun will be free of trouble – _surely, by now we must've killed every bandit within ten miles._ "What's not to like about Black Briar?" my Dunmer companion asks, and I shrug. "It tastes like healing potions and fungi."

She snorts. "A grave insult, indeed." Healing potions are disgusting, as is apparently the unwritten rule surrounding any working medicine. "You people are strange, though. I've never really thought about it, but back home, we barely had any alcoholic drinks. Mostly tomato juice or, say, milk. There's also some types of more adult beverages, of course, but I couldn't tell you since... Well, let's not dig too deeply into that."

My hopes of having an easy, trouble-free time, unfortunately, are dashed even as I can spot Dragonsreach just up the hill.

"I mean, I don't understand you people – why build houses out of wood? You know what my people call that? _Firewood._ It's ridiculous. In Morthal, one of those wooden fire hazards killed a young girl and her mother. Helgi, was the girl's name. Darling child, I can tell you. After all I was the one to clean u-"

I'm cut off quite suddenly by an unnatural cry echoing through the midday air, loud and angry and deep like – I find no comparison. Like the waterfalls in Markarth, roaring? A large, wild beast? I look around desperately, trying to find the source when an enormous shadow passes over us, and slowly, disbelievingly, I look up.

Jenassa gasps in awed horror. _I'm_ closer to screaming like a little girl and running for cover, instead.

I'm frozen to my spot as a **wyrm** circles overhead, a creature straight out of… wherever it is they come from. Oblivion being very likely. I know of dragons, of course – How they lived on mountain peaks, how they razed villages to the ground in never-ending fire, how death and destruction are the reasons for their making, how the Black One, mentioned only in the old stories my father used to tell, Alduin the World Eater, would bring the End Times.

How the only one to stop him was a mortal with a dragon's soul. _**Drak'nakaraat Threinmûr**_ _– He born in Dragon fire._ A legend.

 _So, what's a Skyrim-appropriate reaction to this particular set of circumstances?_

I swallow thickly as the winged beast ignores us completely in favour of continuing his descent – straight towards a watchtower. _Well, I'll be a cyborg draughr snorting powdered Fal Zhardum Din fungus._ I look Jenassa straight in the eye. She looks right back at me, battle lust clouding her eyes. _No way out of this, is there?_ "I refuse to die today." I snarl, drawing my axes whilst conceding: "I refuse to stand by idly as doom personified sweeps down and kills innocents, as well."

She grins broadly, bow in hand and itching to fight. "Well said." With that, I'm off, running towards the tower so fast I barely feel my feet touch upon the ground.

Jenassa is even faster than I am, with her longer legs and better stamina, running ahead a few metres towards the chaos and fire raining down ahead.

The first screams reach my ears, and I grind my teeth together so harshly I could bite trough wood. One of the guards runs past, panting harshly, singed by flames, and going as fast as his feet can carry him towards the city - most likely for backup. _Hopefully._ I pay him little mind, entirely focused on the tip of a wing rising from the thick smoke, the acrid smell and my tearing eyes not slowing my advance.

Two more guards are still fighting, but their arrows miss or bounce off the creature's hide, its thick, gleaming scales. In the middle of running towards what might just be my end, a single, ridiculous thought filters through my hazy mind: _I could forge armour out of that._

Then, I let all thoughts except those aimed towards survival go as the dragon notices our approach. For a single, terrifying heartbeat my eyes meet his – unfathomable depth and magma-hot rage burn inside the creature's soul, and its gaze remains trained on me until one of the guards gets lucky and nicks its snout.

Jenassa lets out a war cry, aiming her arrow and firing without pausing her sprint. Seeing the ledge of a broken tower piece jutting diagonally above the dragon's wing gives me an idea – a _terrible, horrible, crazy idea that is totally going to mean my swift and painful death._

…

 _I'm going to do it anyway._

 **A/N: This was it for now, and yes, that is a cliff-hanger. No, I'm not going to give you the next update sooner to kill the suspense. Maybe I'll even wait a little longer on purpose, who knows? Leave a review while waiting!**

 **IMPORTANT NOTE: I base my Dwemeris of OTHER FRANCHISE. Such as the Hobbit, Inheritance Cycle, and so on. I cannot find a good translator or, really, any info on Bethesda style Dwemeris.**


	11. Dragon vs Dwemer

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: See chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Dragon. See also; Expensive housing is expensive. Lastly, Nords are primitives, don't let their sophisticated language fool you.**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _Then, I let all thoughts except those aimed towards survival go as the dragon notices our approach. For a single, terrifying heartbeat my eyes meet his – unfathomable depth and magma-hot rage burn inside the creature's soul, and its gaze remains trained on me until one of the guards gets lucky and nicks its snout. Jenassa lets out a war cry, aiming her arrow and firing without pausing her sprint. Seeing the ledge of a broken tower piece jutting diagonally above the dragon's wing gives me an idea – a terrible, horrible, crazy idea that I'm definitely going to use._

Chapter 11 – Dragons vs Dwemer

 _Fighting a dragon is horribly crazy anyway._

My breaths come in short gasps through the smoke and ash, my heart hammers violently in my chest and my ears ring with the echoes of the screams of dying men as I give myself not a second of pause.

I finally reach the edge of the area, making a direct aim for the ledge, dodging fire and burning stone as the dragon roars again. My hands are slick with sweat, and it only makes the white-knuckled grip on my weapons tighten further as I jump over an unnaturally still body and move up.

My inner monologue, to any Dwemer who might have been alive, nearby, and using the Calling on me, must be quite boring, going along the lines of: _Fuck. Fucking fuck shit I'm dead I'm so, so, so fucking dead._

My amulet glows an intense blue when I'm suddenly engulfed in flames, my eyes comically wide in surprise – the heat burns and scorches and tries to blacken my skin, but the enchantment holds up even against dragon fire, the blue glow blinding me to the path in front of me and making me stumble. I can't breathe for a precious few seconds, heat and flame sapping the oxygen from the space around me - and when I can finally take a gasp of precious air, I search for the origin of the blast to see the dragon has dismissed me. _Thank the gods I don't believe in – a normal mortal cannot withstand dragon fire without enchantments_ … like I have.

A deep breath brings more ash-tasting air into my mouth, the soot getting in my eyes and nose, but I fight through the discomfort and the reflexive tears and the heat still wafting off the scorched and burnt earth underneath me. _Endure. Like the stone._

I nearly lose sight of the giant wyrm, a wing knocking me down when it beats in tandem with my pounding heart, the dragon – _it's going to fly off!_ Stumbling back up as fast as I can I miraculously manage to reach the top of the ledge. _Let this work, whoever listens, let this WORK –_

" **DIE!** "

I yell, taking a leap off the ledge. I've lost sight of everyone else at some point, and not my gaze focuses on only the horned head below me.

I slam into the creature's scaly neck, nearly dropping an axe as I scramble to get a grip, digging my fingers into the ridges around the horns, snarling wildly in answer to the dragon's loud roar of agitation, deafening in its closeness. The world slows around me as I raise my axe high above me and bring it down with every ounce of force I can muster, letting out a roar of defiance. _I will not go down today!_

Something cracks, but it isn't the creature's skull. Now even more pissed off than I was, I growl again like a wild animal, heart racing in panic, dropping my broken weapon carelessly and drawing my dagger, looping my legs around the thing's head before nearly falling down in an effort to hang off the side of its maw.

The steel digs deep into my enemy's eye, through the soft tissue and eyehole, even deeper when I push on valiantly _and there's blood everywhere and the body below me shocks and writhes and bleeds and bleeds ruby red_ when I take out the dagger and stab it again. And again, and _again_ until the dragon collapses, sending me tumbling off the head onto unforgiving stone harshly, a pained grunt passing my lips.

" _Dovahkiin, no!_ " The cry thunders into my ear before, as if my magic, only a deadly silence remains. It's broken by my own panting, and I down a stamina potion to gather enough strength to stand up. After pouring nigh-all of my energy into attacking, I'm glad I manage even this much.

I stare at the large beast in front of me – slain by me, and nearly collapse again. _Dragons. Aicantar told me they were all dead. Yet, there's one right here..?_

The sound of crackling, like a campfire in the night, but louder, reaches my ears just as the guards and Jenassa start carefully approaching me. My view zeros in on the dragon before me – the origin of the noise. To my growing panic and shock, it starts to break into fragments of light, near-blinding in their intensity and in a myriad of different colours. Another sound, like the beating of a heavy drum or gong echoes through the inside of my head, sending me reeling in pain even as a sudden gust of wind blows the glowing dragon pieces towards me – _Wait, what the –_

I'm too late to dodge, and can only watch in horror as the light comes towards me in a winding spiral before I cry out in surprise as it _enters me and the world stops turning and there's too much energy too much power make it stop and why do I feel like I'm flying what is this I, no, not me it's…!_

Mirmulnir.

After the strange word – _a name, the name of the dragon I just killed what in the mines –_ bounces off the inside of my skull and seemingly all around me. My head hurts as much as it usually would only after using the Calling for far, far too long.

But even as one of the two men cautiously approaches me, it fades to a dull ache. And by the time he speaks, the pain and rush of energy are all but gone. "I can't believe it… You're… Dragonborn." One of them says, awed. I can only look at him in confusion. Everything about this situation is confusing, and now they're calling me strange names? I've never heard the word 'Dragonborn', but my parents were Dwemer, thank you very much.

I scowl and cough the smoke out of my lungs before biting: "What **in the mines** is a Dragonborn?" He pauses, as if not entirely sure why I'm even asking.

…

A Dragonborn can steal a dragon's power by sucking out its soul? _Sounds like something Arnknurlaf - err, Meridia, would come up with._ "That's what you did isn't it? You took the dragon's power?" He doesn't even seem to know that for sure himself.

I remain silent, glancing at the sky to see if there aren't any other surprises waiting for me up there before standing up again – did I fall back down when the wind hit me? – and dusting off my pants as much as I can. Jenassa walks up to me, holding something very familiar in her hands with something akin to sympathy in her gaze. "Here. Thought you might want to keep this." I look down at my hands, and the broken axe inside them. A faint, sad smile passes over my face like a shadow before I sigh shakily.

"I don't know what's going on… I just want some water and rest right now." I look back up as I hear the heavy footfalls of an armed party coming nearer before another Dunmer woman calls out. "Halt! What in Oblivion happened here?" She eyes the dragon carcass, and so do I. There's only skin and bone left.

I glance down at myself. My cloak is torn beyond repair – _When did that happen?_ \- and my leather chest piece probably won't survive another blow. One of my bracers is missing entirely, and my boots are worn and covered in dried stains.

Doubtfully, I think back on my first impression of the dragon earlier – I could, in fact, attempt to make myself a fitting set of armour out of the skin. There's plenty of it, after all. The scales, a gleaming brown-grey, won't even stand out much. I'll need to use something more mouldable for the clasps, though. Not iron, never iron, it rusts too easily. But _steel_ … I wonder if Adrianne is up for a little project.

The end product might even be worth asking Xrib's Blessings for, which would complete my training and mark me as an adult.

 _It's about time. Old enough to slay a dragon, not old enough to marry, my ass!_ Oh…The other dunmer woman is done talking and she asked me a question. I run a hand through my filthy hair sheepishly. "Uh…come again?" She lets out a frustrated sigh.

"Did you, or did you not, slay the dragon?"

"Mirmulnir?" I ask without thinking. "Aye. I him stabbed in the eye a few times… I think." _I probably wasn't supposed to be able to call it by name. Also, mental note to me: stress brings out the worst of me, grammar wise. I wish this language were as simple as my own. I try not to use my mother tongue too much, though – might be dangerous._

"You did." Jenassa confirms for me, clapping me on the back, nearly sending me right back onto my knees with the sheer force of it. "I taught you well." She smirks wryly. "Though I can't teach you to keep your head out of the clouds, it seems. Irileth here is the jarl's personal Housecarl. She says that he will want to speak to you for your bravery." I blink at her. "You seem to have your words confused. That just now was pure idiocy. Stupidity."

"Your stupidity has saved many lives today…" Irileth starts, before trailing off, seizing me up confusedly. I roll my eyes. "Mixed blood, if you _must._ " I drawl, narrowing my eyes at her in a way that hopefully makes clear that it would NOT be appreciated if she called me that. "My name is **Fjaldi dû Bthardamz.** Fjaldi will do." I add, and she nods stoically.

I cross my arms over my chest, covering the large gap in my armour as I catch up with Jenassa, who is limping slightly. I let het do her thing for all of five steps before stopping. "Have a health potion." I dump two of the phials into her hands, and she clutches them even as she snaps readily. "I don't need them."

I glare at her over my shoulder. _I'm hurt, I'm tired, I'm confused. I'm completely done with all the shit life is throwing at me today. I just killed a damn dragon. The world might be ending soon. I lost my faithful, self-crafted axe. Lost a reminder of_ _ **home**_ _. Shut the fuck up and drink the gods-damned potions before I show you where you can shove your pride._

"That was non-negotiable. _"_ I carefully measure my voice through gritted teeth. She says nothing for a few tense heartbeats, my fists clenching and unclenching. I turn back to walking after Irileth only after I heat the tell-tale noise of a cap being opened with a 'pop'.

 _I'm leaving her in Whiterun._ I decide, ignoring the ache in my chest at the thought of wandering the roads alone again – I've saved up enough coin to take a carriage to whichever place interests me next. I can take it. Besides, I'm going to figure out how to use dragon scales for armour… _Oops, I forgot to take them along._

I turn on my heel, quickly stalking back towards the dead Mirmulnir. "You go ahead, I forgot something!" I call over my shoulder. "Except you, Jenassa, you're following me." She sighs in exasperation, loudly, before joining me. "What could you possibly want now, sera?"

I take out the dagger, poking the dragon skin from the inside of the body, through the ribs. _Aye, this can work._

"I want to bring the skin. The scales cannot be pierced with arrows. I'm curious to see how armour would work out." She throws her hands up in the sky. "Marvellous." Now, that was sarcasm if I ever heard it. I give her an unrepentant grin. "Since you've been so nice to throw me into the river on our way here, _thrice,_ you may have the privilege of carrying it for me."

I cackle at her affronted grumbling, but she helps me nonetheless. The guards at the main gates and the Khajit caravan I honestly forgot all about all gawk after us curiously as we enter the city. "Adrianne! Long time no see! I've got a wonderfully interesting idea, you see, and I was wondering if I could leave this here whilst I go visit Jarl Balgruuf?" I gesture grandly at the heap of dragon scales in Jenassa's arms, who, for her part, is entirely unamused. Adrianna's eyebrows shoot up into her hairline, and she places a hand on her hip as she contemplates me for a few moments.

 _Ok, new tactic._

But before I can even think of putting on my best kicked-puppy face, she gathers her wits.

"Well, well, look what the horker dragged in. Looking filthier than I've ever seen you." She finally laughs, carefree and content, and my heart aches dully before I can gather myself, "But fine. Leave the stuff here for the time being. Don't take till tomorrow to come tell me what you've been doing all this time, aye?" I smile and nod eagerly, before starting to make my way up to Dragonsreach. "Jenassa, feel free to stay and chat. I think I can handle this one." She chuckles and shakes her head in disbelief. _"And he says he's no warrior."_ She mutters under her breath, almost too faint for me to hear.

I bite my lip, hand automatically going for my axes – only to find a dagger at my right side, instead. I squeeze the hilt for a moment. _I will make a new one._ A better one. And next time, I'll use a grand soul gem to enchant it, _screw the laws… These surface-dwellers aren't bound to them, either._

The many stairs don't help my quickly souring mood any, as the events that took place not an hour ago pass through my mind's eye. A real-life dragon… A sigh passes my lips as I take in the interior of Dragonsreach. The high vaulted ceilings give in plenty of light – and I do not envy the ones responsible for replacing and lighting the candles on that majestic chandelier. The arches and intricate carvings are a sight to behold, and yet, my soul aches for the carvings in stone and Dwemer metals, of pale blue magic lighting the darkness. _I'm tired… Can I go to bed yet?_

I walk up to the platform, passing the two long tables and the fires without a second glance. I'm wary, weary, and confused. I look out into the room underneath half-lidded eyes, plastering a blank mask on my face, and failing at even that. I calculate my chances of escape, my chances of earning the jarl's favour.

 _My chances of getting out of here without_ – the ground trembles, shakes, shouts and warnings resound through the halls and above all, a sound like a chorus of male voices booms loud as a thunderclap ou of nowhere: " DOV-AH-KIIN!" The court stays frozen for a few moments as the trembling passes, before several different voices start talking at once, Irileth the only recognisable one amongst them.

For my part, it takes an embarrassingly long time to process what just happened.

 _Wait… No. What?_

I stay silent. That was Thu'um, the dragontongue. They call for **Drak'nakaraat Threinmûr…** Dovahkiin.A sinking feeling settles heavily in my stomach. _It cannot be. 'Dragonborn' then means… No._ The Jarl, on his throne, catches sight of me and beckons me closer, a pensive frown on his face. I obey, out of not knowing what else to do more than respect. _It cannot be. This feeling is just another thing I must endure. It cannot…be._

"Welcome to Dragonsreach, traveller. It is good to know that there are brave Mer like you in these lands in such dark times. First, a dragon attacks Helgen. Then another shows up at my city gates! Know I am thankful, stranger, for your deed and saving my people." There's making an opening statement, and then there's this.

I can only nod again, speechless. _A dragon attacked Helgen and I didn't notice?_

"I did only what felt right at the time." I digress evenly, choosing to disregard Helgen for now. Irileth turns to face the jarl then. "My jarl, the men say that he jumped on the dragon like a sabercat pounces on its prey. He stabbed it in the eye several times before it could fly off and cause more deaths." She assesses me once again, but the jarl is the one to speak before I can even formulate a sentence. "Where do you hail from, stranger, and may I know the name of the Mer who saved my hold." _He figured out I'm a Mer… how?_

Self-conciously, I smooth my hair back to the sides of my face, covering up the tips of my ears poking out, glancing at my feet briefly. I hadn't even noticed. Hiding my pointed ears proved to mean avoiding a whole lot of trouble with Nords, Imperials, even other Mer.

Hesitantly, I look back up, but only the uppity looking man standing next to the jarl seems to be judging…Wait, that's Proventus, Adrianne's Da. _What's up with him?_ The blonde on the throne has a steady, soft gaze. I find myself relax despite myself. "Fjaldi dû Bthardamz." I say slowly. "My last name is the one my mother and I took after moving from my birthplace B… In the Reach."

A lone, elegant eyebrow rises higher. I smile faintly, taking a plunge. "If your guards are to be believed, I am Dragonborn." The second eyebrow joins the first.

"If that is the truth, then the Greybeards were calling for you. Best not keep them waiting too long." I am about to ask more questions, but he keeps talking as if he cannot see my slightly parted lips. _Uppity human._

"One more thing – In light of your good deed, I permit you to buy property in the city. Speak to Proventus if you need anything." My eyes light up in faked enthusiasm. "Wait, Proventus? Proventus Avenicci?" Now I know why the guy seems so familiar: "Adrianne's Da?" The man lights up like a cherry as the entire court seems to turn its eyes to him.

I take the precious few seconds to take a few calming gulps of air, briefly squeezing my eyes shut to fight back the oncoming panic.

"Well…ah, yes. You were the one to give me that sword a few weeks back, correct? I remember you." He finally says. And only after giving him a charming smile do I turn back to the jarl. "Of course, my Jarl." The man doesn't seem in the least bit miffed at my interrupting his spiel. _I can learn to like this guy after all. He passed the test._ "Well, you'd best be off to High Hrothgar then." I agree solemnly, before heading over to Proventus right away – a house is shit expensive isn't it? "Just out of curiosity, what's the price for a house here?"

The answer has me huff slightly in amusement. "Can I pay in instalments? That way I don't have to carry around that kind of coin all at the same time." He seems confused. "Instalments?" For a few moments, I can do nothing but gape at the man like _I'm_ the idiot here.

Then, I clear my throat. "Are you saying that, in three and a half thousand years, no human has yet grasped the concept of paying off a larger sum in smaller amounts at a time?" _Actually, Ondolemar taught me the word, so perhaps the human races actually haven't?_ After some chatting, we come to an agreement. For now, I'm not buying the place. I mean… _wooden housing._

I first want to visit the other holds as was my original plan. As I leave the building moments later, I can't help but regain some of my good cheer. I have a project to look forwards to, as well as the possibility to purchase a house should I feel the need. For now, the Drunken Huntsman is enough – I wonder how the others are doing.

…High Hrothgar can wait, right?

 **A/N: Should I get a deviant art account to dump all my drawings and sketches for Fjaldi and his family, and the amulet, and the armour that I'll be changing from canon? Yeah, probably. Am I gonna do it right now? Definitely not, if I feel like it we'll get there in like, a month :/**


	12. Smithing New Plans

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): WAAAY TO MUCH SMITHING DETAILS, Dwemer religion, too, but SMITHING DETAILS. This is a Short Chapter, more of a filler, really, like the prologue has just finished and we see the hero pack up his stuff to GTFO, which is actually this whole chapter.**

 **FILLER CHAP BUT ENJOY IT ANYWAY!**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _I first want to visit the other holds as was my original plan. As I leave the building moments later, I can't help but regain some of my good cheer. I have a project to look forwards to, as well as the possibility to purchase a house should I feel the need. For now, the Drunken Huntsman is enough – I wonder how the others are doing._

Chapter 12 – Smithing new plans

The moment I am within sight of Warmaiden's, Adrianne pounces like a starving wolf. "So where have you been? What have you been doing? Are these scales from that dragon that the guards were yelling about? What did you _do_? Why did the jarl want to see you? I want answers and - Kynareth be my witness - I'm not letting you go until I have them!" Jenassa is nowhere in sight, probably at the Huntsman, then. Leaving me to the wolves. I hold up my hands in mock-surrender with a grin. _Man, I missed this human._

"Calm down! I'm currently more interested in what armour I can make from those scales I brought in. Firstly, how much for this sword?" I somehow doubt that Jarl Siddgeir will mind much when I sell this 'blade of Falkreath'. After conducting business – selling some gems as well as buying leather and steel ingots from her, I tell her: "All you really need to know is that I'm Thane of Falkreath now, I killed the dragon… and I will be using those scales to forge myself armour worthy of **Xrib's blessings**. It's like a rite of passage, it makes me an adult."

She crosses her arms in frustration. "I'll need more to go on than that! But… I suppose you can tell me all about your adventures whilst we go inside and work out some designs for that dragon-armour of yours."

I wiggle my eyebrows at her roguishly. "You know me so well." She slaps me on the back of my head and I laugh, finally relaxing a little as we make our way inside. I'm thrumming with excitement and can barely remain still as she goes off to find paper and charcoal. _I'll be the first Dwemer to ever use dragon scales in armour! If I can do this… Maybe I can consider my training complete. I would be an adult!_ I bite my lip. Thinking is fine and all – now there's the part where I actually DO make the armour and offer it to Xrib.

I can keep the item I create, though. Xrib only judges, he does not take. _Thank him for that, since I'm in desperate need of proper armour right about now. The Greybeards can wait until it is an adult Forgemaster standing on their doorsteps – alive, hopefully, thanks to this armour._

"Besides… How do I ask this? I thought Dwemer only focused on logic and fact, mocking the gods?" Adrianne asks as she returns, placing the paper on the counter and pulling up two chairs. I grimace even as I sink down in one, grabbing the charcoal and noting the name of the new 'project' at the top of the page. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask, since it's… complicated. Even I barely understand the details. How do I say this, Uhm..? I don't think I know enough words yet. For you to understand me, I mean."

"Try me."

 _How does one explain a series of abstract concepts one does not fully grasp themselves?_ I make a few frustrated gestures with my hands, not really knowing how to say it with my still limited grasp of the language. Finally, after a long silence, I make the attempt to explain:

"Alright, so imagine if the entire… world, with Oblivion and everything else that exists, was a circle. In that circle, you can draw a… line. A line between mortal things and… not-mortal things."

She raises her eyebrow inquisitively, though she also looks quite confused already. "You mean, the divines?" I make a so-so motion with my hand. "A bit. Everything Daedra, too. Everything… not-mortal. I don't know if there's a phrase for that. So, there is a line in the circle. But nobody knows where _in_ the circle it is. My people have spent entire lives trying to figure out how to draw it. Where… Mortal ends and not-mortal begins. The line of True not-understanding. Where we as mortal beings, stop being able to… get… certain things with our minds..?" I can see I've lost her, and I sigh in disappointment, shaking my head. "You do not understand already."

 _Again, there's little point in explaining it other than to satisfy her curiosity – and I can't believe Calcelmo never got around to asking this of me. He might have been able to help me explain by pitching words at me until I found the right ones. But for now, there's sadly little I can do._

Her shoulders sag. "No, I do not. But your words are… fascinating. I don't mind if you continue." I give her a feeble smile and shake my head again. "Maybe next time we meet."

 _How will I be able to best explain to anyone how it all works? Mostly, it ran out of hand after we first came into contact with human traders, so devoted to their gods. Then the scholars and later High Priests began thinking about what we would consider 'godlike'. Death, Life, and all Creation, the three ultimate things that we Dwemer wished to unravel and understand._

… _Hah, and then it ran out of hand when we became to actually revere those concepts as the god of death and final judgement, Sait'iis, the goddess of life and pure souls, now known as Meridia, and the god of creation and crafts, Xrib._

 _At least, that's what I think Ma meant when she brought up the subject._ If I get such an implicit part of my own culture wrong… The shame would be too much to bear. _What kind of Dwemer, especially a scholar's son, does that?_

After dropping the subject, I work tirelessly alongside Adrianne for an entire week, first designing, then actually working the harsh and stubborn material. We nearly get into a fight about who gets to work the dragon scales and who makes the fitting – I eventually allow her to make the boots whereas I would make the cuirass.

…We didn't even know if we would have enough for bracers at first. The entire project is a hit-or-miss sort of thing. Eventually, I only left the city to grab a few pieces of dragon bone – immensely heavy but sturdy enough to withstand an axe, as I know from experience, for Adrianne to experiment with.

It takes another three days for me to fully finish the cuirass, by which the Warmaiden herself has interrupted me several times for the fitting of the boots and to get started on the bracers. We work well together after the first few mishaps, and when I'm standing in front of her in full regalia, she cannot help but clap her hands together in glee, eyes gleaming with the fire only a smith can have at the sight of finished work.

"I think we've done it! You were right about using the glass armour as basis for the fittings – it's Light armour, much like your previous set. But far stronger." I smile and nod along with her even as I run through a series of stances and movements, seeing if any parts chafe together or if I have movability issues. She's right – it's a set of Light Armour, easy to move around in, too.

Only my shoulders would have been troublesome, had I gone with the original design of spikes on the shoulder plates. No, the shoulders are fashioned after the ones from a Leather set, flat and smooth. I grin as I do a little twirl to show off the entire set to my friend. "It will definitely do to keep me safe on my way to Ivarstead." Adrianne nods sagely, crossing her arms and leaning against her usual spot, tense lines in her face sharpening for a moment in what may have been concern.

"We're headed to Ivarstead? Nice getup by the way." Jenassa comments as she walks up to us, Anoriath behind her, letting out a low whistle. "Is that made of scales? How fascinating! What creature is it? The size of those things…"

I preen a little before pulling myself back to earth, it won't do to get a big head over all this. _I can have pride, but not too much, for it will lead to arrogance_.

"Dragon scales." Adrianne answers for me, a wicked grin on her face, like a hunter with a fresh kill. "Now here's a guy that can get things done." She nods approvingly and I return her grin even as I try to cover up the budding guilt in my chest.

"Jenassa, to be fair, I think it's time we part ways." She raises her eyebrows, but agrees stoically. "The roads of Skyrim can get lonely. Seek me out if you need a hand on your travels again." With that, the two visitors leave, and I take my armour off even as the blacksmith next to me sighs.

"Are you sure that it's a good idea to go away alone?" I shrug, not entirely sure myself. "I'll just follow the rivers. Darkwater River to be precise. It shouldn't be difficult. Jenassa herself said I could handle myself a few days ago." _Had that been a few days ago? "_ Or, well, when we were in Falkreath. _"_ I amend after thinking on it for a few seconds more.

Adrianne huffs amusedly. "Oh, very well. I think you may not have to travel on your own, regardless. The Khajit caravan is due to moving away within two days' time. You might want to check to see where they're headed." I stare at her for a few moments.

"You know, that might actually be a good idea. But I still have some things to do here, most notably at Farengar's enchanting station. I'm planning on copying my old enchantments with some more powerful soul gems than last time. It should take the rest of the day. I will go see him, and the Khajit, tomorrow." She only rolls her eyes.

"You mentioned a rite of passage, too. What was that about? Will you perform it before you leave?"

My head whips around to face her even as I hold my new apparel close to my chest. A sour taste lingers in my mouth at the thought and I frown. "I… cannot. Not when in company. The ceremony is seen as something highly private. I will wait until I am alone…" _on the road, halfway up to the Throat of the World, if need be._ She seems to notice how serious I am about it, and wisely drops the subject.

The next day, Farengar wisely lets me pass him to get to the Enchanter. I spot a familiar blonde in armour who's also in the room as the mage as she pours over some stone tablet.

"Farengar, have any Grand soul gems ready for use?" He gestures over his shoulder. "Cabinet to your right. For three, it's 1200, only because you rid us of that dragon earlier and allowed me to gather materials for study." _Sweet!_

"Oh, hi Delphine." I add, just to be annoying and partially because I'm curious as to her reaction.

She only grunts before looking up sharply. "How do you know me?" I wave a hand at her with a mock-miserable sigh, rummaging around in the cabinet and taking the items I need, dropping my new armour on the table, starting with the cuirass. "The inn, remember? As I said, nothing to worry about from me. I'm headed out in a couple days anyway." I start the enchanting process, promptly banning any disturbances from my mind and setting about perfecting my new items – improved at a workbench and ready to go.

It's a pity that I have to settle for one axe and a dagger until I can somehow find a way back to Markarth and forge a new weapon. Or, if there's any Dwemer ruins close to where I'm headed… _Dead Mer need no riches._

The Khajit caravan turns out to be travelling to Markarth. I spend a few long moments weighing the pros and cons of joining them when my destination is closer to the other end of Skyrim before coming to the conclusion that it would not be a good idea. _I'll have to put off visiting Ghorza and Ondolemar just a bit longer._

Those Greybeards cause earthquakes, after all, who knows what else they can do.

Regretfully, I decline their offer, but I do stay to talk. Ri'saad is quite the nice guy, and he laughs when I say it. "Rarely, if ever, does this one hear such compliments. Most of Skyrim's people cannot see past the fur. Not even other Khajit."

My heart goes out to the cat, even though I'm pretty sure he's done some shady drug dealings – not because of his race, but because one of the other caravan workers is clearly addicted to something, and she begs the older Khajit for 'it' when I leave.

It isn't my place to judge. Not with what my people have done…

 _Well, what I'm pretty sure they've done since they all disappeared like that. Speaking of which, that dream hasn't bothered me for a few days. I wonder if it was just a passing sign._

That said, nothing is keeping me from going to High Hrothgar any longer, and I say my goodbyes not an hour later, leaving in the early evening with salutes from the guards I leave behind. I don't pause even as the night falls, and I'm very careful about not losing my attention to the lights of the stars, moons, and brilliant emerald aurora dancing and glittering over my head.

It's quiet, until I get to Valtheim Towers and do not quite agree with paying the toll of 200 coins. I mean, I have the coin, but I'm not paying what's quite clearly a bandit camp in disguise.

…

 _Jenassa was right when she said I could handle a few bandits_ , I find out later, emptying their pockets of valuables and taking an Orcish dagger. I take some time to topple the corpses off the bridge connecting the two towers, somehow pushing down the revulsion of dragging corpses down flights of stairs. I'm alone here… I can perform the ritual to receive the blessings of Xrib here. I'm _not_ doing so with corpses nearby.

I shrug off the cuirass, pulling on some simple miner's clothes I'd found instead. On top of the second tower is something like a bedroom with a table – perfect for this. I scavenge the place until I find the needed candles and charcoal. With some difficulty, I light the plain cream candles in a circle, the charcoal used for a crude inscription around the cuirass.

I don't remember the exact details of how the circle is supposed to look, since I only got a glimpse of the ritual chamber once in my life, back in Nchuand-Zel, when I wandered in by accident.

 _It… It will have to do._

I clasp my hands together and kneel in front of the makeshift shrine, shivering in the cold night air even as the prayer passes my lips. I don't know what to expect. I don't know if anything is supposed to happen, like a flash of light, or a glow, or a gust of wind, or a rumble, or maybe a voice… But nothing happens. I stay in my position for a while, but when no answer is forthcoming and the icy cold seeps deep inside my bones, I sigh and stand up.

I leave the armour where it is, in the circle, the faint glow of the enchantments coming off of it and my boots when I kick them off next to the surprisingly clean bed. There's no more bandits in these towers, and there's a bed in a relatively high and dry spot. I'm disappointed that my work isn't worth Xrib's blessings… _I hope I won't have to make an actual sacrifice to get them._

I've heard about the sacrificial altar dedicated to Xrib somewhere out in the mountains of Skyrim, where Dwemer would sometimes sacrifice surface-dwellers… Knowing some of those same surface-dwellers personally, the very thought makes me rather ill. _Maybe these people aren't so primitive after all, I've yet to hear about any of them using live sacrifices. Or slaves, for that matter._

I close my eyes, tired from the walk and the late hour – curse the solar cycle – and decide that whatever my problems are, they can wait to tomorrow. I'm hoping that I'm not the Dragonborn. That I'm not… **Drak'nakaraat Threinmûr.** __

 _The moment that title touches my shoulders, I will fall under its weight._ I turn my head to the side listlessly, working myself further into a depressed mood. _Tomorrow will tell._

In the early morning, I'm awoken by a pins-and-needles sensation all over my left arm. I groan as I roll over, blearily blinking at the sunlight streaming in from between the broken planks above me. My stomach rumbles, and I turn to the side of the bed to grab some carefully wrapped smoked salmon to start the day. I eat two pieces before my eye falls on the armour, still on the table, where suddenly – I jump out of bed without a second thought, racing up to the armour and running a finger along the new carving reverently. I'm startled to see nearly golden lines creep along the shoulder in what looks like circular carvings newly adorning my cuirass, forming Xrib's sign briefly before fading away, leaving no trace. *****

 _Xrib's Blessings?_ I sink to my knees again, softly uttering an awed 'thank you' even as my heart soars far above the clouds, like I'm flying – I did it.

 _I did it._

 _I DID it!_

 _I'm a true Forgemaster now… and an adult!_

 _Wait until Mellte hears I've…_

 _I've… beaten … him…_

…

… _Oh._

 _Right._

My shoulders sag slightly even as my eyes slowly scan the sorry excuse of a room I'm in. Not below comfortable stone, with my people there to guide me or compliment me once I step out of Dwemer-wrought doors.

A sigh escapes me, good mood warring with the knowledge that my Ma will never smile at me proudly, that my uncle won't pat me on the back and say 'well done'. That Mellte won't get agitated enough to work like a madman to catch up…

I smile slightly at the last thought, before donning my armour. It's like it gives me a boost of energy, knowing that I'm wearing the item that made me into an adult under Xrib's eyes.

My smile turns wry even as I pack my stuff and leave with a spring in my step. _High Hrothgar and seven thousand steps are waiting for me –_

 _I hope that's an exaggeration, I really, really do._

At least Arn… Meridia will protect me from any undead, and now, Xrib's Blessings will ensure that all my enchantments will be amplified.

I clutch my amulet to my chest with an even larger grin. _Wherever you are, Da, Ma, I hope you're still proud of me._ Even though I have killed many by now… I hope they will not judge me harshly for it.

My feet carry me along the cobblestone paths towards Windhelm, along the White river. The sun seems to shine brighter than yesterday and I leave the Valtheim Towers behind me, wondering what else will happen. Ivarstead can't be that far… right?

Right.

 **A/N: This entire Chapter is self-indulgence, I swear. Also, do any of you know the unmarked location Altar of Xrib in Skyrim? I was wondering, since I kind of based my entire Dwemer pantheon on it. At first, it was going to be Mzark instead of Xrib, but then I went like, nah, Xrib sounds more obscure for some reason. Also fuck the tower of Mzark. And Blackreach.**

 ***Think of the circular pattern on the Dwemer contraption in Septimus Signus' outpost.**


	13. Nagging Hags

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Cave exploration. Nerves. Not much else, but action at last! Mentions chopping off limbs and describes murder, too… somewhere.**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _I clutch my amulet to my chest with an even larger grin. Wherever you are, Da, Ma, I hope you're still proud of me. Even though I have killed many by now… I hope they will not judge me harshly for it. My feet carry me along the cobblestone paths towards Windhelm, along the White river. The sun seems to shine brighter than yesterday and I leave the Valtheim Towers behind me, wondering what else will happen. Ivarstead can't be that far… right? Right._

Chapter 13 – Nagging Hags… _No, not you. Them!_

Two days and a fort full of angry mages later, I'm not so sure about this little trip anymore.

 _At least this… Darkwater Crossing place seems friendly_. There's guards around, seizing me up even as I approach the nearest person to ask if there's a possibility for me to rest here for a night. After a sharp rebuff from a woman called Anneke, I try and goad her into a conversation - we end up spending a few hours swapping stories, not really getting anything done.

Telling people about the vampire coven incident in Morthal is getting old quickly, but by now, I have emptied and disbanded endless bandit encampments to fill her mind with an idea of what I'd been up to. "It's ridiculous, actually. I deal with some bandits, and all of a sudden they think I am there to solve _all_ of their problems!" I grumble at the thought, sitting cross-legged on the ground next to Anneke something-Jumper.

She chuckles wryly, agreeing with a shrug of muscled shoulders. "I can actually barely believe you when you say you're not an adventurer, but a… what did you call it again? I've never heard of the job in all my travels."

"A Forgemaster, but only since very recently, mind you. It means I'm a blacksmith as well as an enchanter. Unfortunately, I haven't as much as touched a forge or arcane enchanter in almost a week, since I've been on the road." _A shame is what it is. I can't wait until I get my hands on a hammer and some steel again._

She takes a swig of her ale, even as another miner walks over to listen in. "So you're saying you have experience with bandits? What about hags? Hey, Anneke, perhaps he can help us out?" I glance between the two warily. "You…have a hag problem?"

 _What IS a hag, anyway? Some shabby old lady?_

The Dunmer sighs forlornly, scratching his bearded chin. "Well, yes, you see, they've been harassing us and stealing some of our-"

He's shoved none too gently by Anneke, who cuts him off. "As Sondas says, we've been robbed by hags. And wherever they are, there's sure to be Hagravens. I'd rather not tangle with those. I'd feel a lot happier knowing they're gone. You seem to be experienced with bandits, despite claiming you didn't chose to be so yourself. If you have the time, can you maybe help us? We – I would be most grateful."

I take a deep breath, taking a bite of some grilled leeks she offered me, as I think it over. "Are they close by? I'm afraid I'll not be able to help much when they're very far from here, since I'm headed to Ivarstead with some haste." _Please give me an excuse not to meet with the Greybeards._

Sondas gives me an assessing look. "Snapleg cave is barely an hour from here, so distance isn't a problem?" I shake my head with some disbelief, barely believing that I'm going to get into trouble voluntarily. As in, of my own free will. Did the moon fall from the sky while I wasn't looking?

"I _think_ I can do that, if someone showed me the way."

Anneke smiles thankfully. "If you would, we'd all be most grateful to you!" I give her an easy smile back, standing and stretching, deciding that I'm not at all tired yet even though the sun is slowly sinking in the sky. I think it's because of my excitement at testing the mettle of my new armour against more than just stray wolves and a sabercat. "I suppose I'll be headed there right now. No use in letting them get up to more problematic stunts, aye?"

Anneke nods eagerly and rises. "I can take you there, but I'll have to tell my husband first."

Soon, I'm back on the road with a companion again, and a very nervous one at that. I frown at her continuous fidgeting, the bowstring twanging sporadically in the early evening air definitely _not_ settling my own nerves.

"Will you calm down before I get nervous, too?" Anneke chuckles hesitantly, rubbing the wood of her bow with a finger - she's had the damn thing drawn since we left Darkwater Crossing.

 _It's NOT helping_. _Sithis save me from jumpy companions._ As the stones beneath my feet slowly make way for dirt as we turn a corner up a small hill, she freezes. Looking over her shoulder from where I'm walking slightly behind her, I easily spot the gaping, dark hole partially hidden from view.

"Well I suppose we're here. Man, this reminds me of the good old days, out in the wilds with my husband. Hey, if you don't mind, I'd love to join up with you, show those hags to keep their paws off my land." I nod silently, drawing my axe and dagger as I approach the cavern with something in my heart singing at the thought of a challenge.

"Very well."

And so we descend. _I think I can learn to like Anneke Crag-jumper_ \- especially since I read no fear from her expression in the dim light. The sharpened spikes and bloodstains I spotted around the entrance prove that this will not be a pleasant outing, and yet she merely takes an arrow from her quiver and nods determinedly.

 _Not bad, for a human._

The short tunnel leads us to a sinkhole in the ground, and the place reeks of death and decay as I spot two severed Skeever heads on pikes. I shudder in disgust – _this is worse than any lack of bandit hygiene. And I rue the day someone figured that heads on pikes were acceptable for use in interior decorating._

Instead of glancing down the sinkhole at risk of being seen, I gesture for Anneke to follow after me as we carefully sneak down a ramp to the side, barely broad enough to step on, and the woman takes out the Skeevers down the path before I can even lift my dagger. Their squeals are hopefully not attracting unwanted attention.

"How many arrows do you carry?" I hiss as we're all the way down, creeping through yet another small passage, the Spriggan hearts lining the walls making my stomach turn. "Eleven." I nearly curse, but instead I huff quietly, glancing around the next corner before briefly facing her.

"You'd better have a good aim then."

Inside of my head, I'm too busy cursing at her to formulate any sentence that isn't downright rude, even if what she did, what she's doing, is _phenomenally stupid._

She tenses, but I wave with my hand as if to say ' _no threat yet'_. I hear the tell-tale slimy, clipping sounds that mark at least one frostbite spider. And, uncovering my ears to hear even better - ignoring the small, breathless gasp of the woman behind me - I register scuffling feet. I raise three fingers, barely visible in the darkness. "At least three, one spider, two people." Anneke shifts, the barest hint of unease flickering in her gaze.

"Got it. Just raise your fingers next time." I nod, even as I turn the corner, crouching in the dark with my heart pounding with adrenaline. And aye, I spot two hags, one of them cooking something, and the other petting the frostbite spider I heard earlier. _I'm already hating this place. And also not thinking about what's in that cooking pot._

I let Anneke fire her arrow first, grinning in silent appreciation as it nails the cooking woman right in the head, a bloody spray following her descent. At that, I jump out of my hiding spot, not breathing a word even as my axe bites into the first hag's arm as she throws them up to prepare a spell. Warm crimson splatters onto my cheek as I duck down below her other arm and the profusely bleeding stump of an elbow, coming up to her chest and burying my dagger into her heart with a feral snarl on my face.

A war cry behind me echoes briefly before a high-pitched squeal is heard as the spider goes down as well. _She can at least hold up in a fight. Eleven arrows. Idiot._

Still breathing heavily with the sudden rush of adrenaline, I nod at Anneke, and she signals that she's okay. I quickly scan the area, opening the chest under the table quickly and pulling out two health potions, passing them both to my new friend even as I whisper: "I've got my own. We split the rest later."

Her lips twitch upwards as she pockets the potions. The crate I find is _far_ more interesting than the chest, and I take the valuable items and soul gems only to put them with the other loot in the chest. We both try our hardest to avoid looking at the mounted heads on display all over the place.

The stench has the woman double over and empty her stomach regardless after a few moments, but it was an admirable effort while it lasted. I glance over briefly, too used to seeing all kinds of gory horrors in Falkreath and Morthal to have to do more than gag at the scent of decay, death, blood, bird and old sweat hanging heavily in the air.

After going through more winding and twisting tunnels and recoiling in horror at mammoth remains and a live troll, we move on as quickly as the cavern system will allow. I have to pull Anneke back at some point so she doesn't skewer herself on an ice spike trap, before ducking and disabling the simple mechanism.

She quietly informs me of the possible exit near the far wall, _which I'd admittedly not seen_ , before we once more move onward, passing several desecrated bodies and a bandit corpse, the stench nearly my undoing as I gag again and nearly get pulverised by a humungous spider falling from the ceiling.

Anneke is down to six arrows by the time it lies curled up on its back.

Then, we come to a dead end.

" _This can't be all of it, where's the Hagraven?_ " My companion mutters, walking around the cavern and searching for any openings. Whilst she attacks a bunch of cobwebs that cover another chest with possible loot and maybe a doorway, I spot a chain hanging from the wall. "Anneke." I call, carefully taking a hold of it. "I apologise if this is a trap."

Before I can hear her indignant 'what?!', I pull the chain harshly, the rattling sound bouncing off the walls.

"So, not a dead end after all." The woman sighs, almost disappointed now even as she sheathes her dagger. _No shit._ "I'm ridiculously low on arrows. Pity the hags don't use bows." _Are you kidding me?_ I shrug, only slightly concerned – _she's_ supposed to be the seasoned adventurer here. Surely, she can take care of herself. _Then again, she's only human._

Aside from some alchemy ingredients which I discreetly pocket in my apothecary's satchel for experimenting later, there isn't much of interest until we reach the final chamber.

"Is… Is that a Spriggan?" I eye the glowing green forest creature curiously, barely registering Anneke's disbelieving murmur. It only takes a split-second for me to make a decision.

"We should free it."

Ignoring the hiss of "Are you insane?" with some practised ease originating from spending an extended period of time with the snarky Jenassa, I move up to the cage and start fiddling with the lock picks I'd scavenged from the bandits I'd taken care of in the past. We're as silent as possible, having long since noticed the Hagraven feathers on the filthy, bloody ground.

The Spriggan suddenly springs forwards once I pry the rusty cage open, whizzing past me towards the – I freeze. _Oh shit, Hagraven._

"We've got company!" I call out, the bird-woman and her hag servant having long since spotted me. I raise my axes and roll out of the way of an ice blast, smiling sharply. _This will be a challenge._ Somehow, I've never been able to resist a challenge. It's only become far more pronounced since I woke up, back in Nchuand-Zel.

 _At least, I used to always have contests with Mellte. I liked it then, right?_

…

It's two very haggard and weary travellers, happily carrying armfuls of loot, that leave the accursed cavern a while later.

Anneke is sporting a frostbitten spot on her leg but will otherwise be fine after she's filled herself with some warm food, and I've sustained next to no injuries, aside from mild burns on my hand, even though I mainly faced the Hagraven. Things became very easy, very quickly, once I'd chopped off the creature's arm. Needless to say, we're also drenched in blood, the sticky crimson dampening my mood slightly, but not enough to not recount every detail of the battles with my new friend, even as she makes grand gestures with her one free hand.

"Anneke?" I ask after we finally fall silent, Deepwater Crossing already in view as we cross the last bridge. I've considered something while we walked. "What is it?" She swings her pickaxe merrily, and I shuffle away from her a little. _Well, even if she says no I don't think it'll matter much._

"If you miss adventuring that much, why don't you come play my guide for a bit? I have to get up to High Hrothgar, and prefer not to get lost on the way there." I suggest mildly, slightly hesitant since, _well, she has a daughter and everything, won't she want to settle?_

Luckily, I'm proven wrong right away.

Her entire face lights up like a beacon, the evening shadows stretching languidly across her features, making the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth even more pronounced. "I've always wanted to make the pilgrimage up there! I mean, what Nord doesn't?" She side-eyes me, and I realise that I hadn't bother to cover up my attention-drawing pointed ears again. They twitch under her scrutiny as my heart skips a beat.

"Then again, you aren't a Nord. Or a Breton, which was what I figured you were at first."

I quickly bring my hair down, gritting my teeth in annoyance, not at her, but at myself for forgetting that these people do not look kindly upon any other races, regardless of their own. _Guess I can forget about -_ "I will go with you." My head swivels back to her from where my gaze had dropped to the cobblestones. "Really?" I breathe, I mean, Jenassa was for hire, she was contractually obligated to follow. Anneke isn't.

 _Skyrim seems to be full of interesting people._

I think happily as she smiles brightly back at me. "Of course! I miss my adventuring days… I cannot go with you too far, though. I have a daughter at Shor's Stone, though, and if possible, I'd like to visit." I nod along with her words patiently. Family is extremely important, I can't imagine ma letting me leave the city to set out on my own! _And yet here I am, without her permission, too._

… _Not that I had much of a choice._ I add sourly, my shoulders sagging a little. _Oh well. It's been months._

"After returning from High Hrothgar, I'm planning to go to Riften. Is Shor's Stone in that general direction?"

"It's right up north from there, yes. I'll travel with you until we get there. Oh, and it's a good thing you have me along with you – when you got here, you were travelling in the wrong direction for Ivarstead." I let out a small noise of dismay. _So, I got lost after all._ I suppose it was only a matter of time until that happened.

She laughs and clasps me on the shoulder when I facepalm. "There, there, it could have been worse." _It could have been_. "You're right, but still… My map doesn't even show the village!" The areas surrounding Markarth, Morthal, Solitude, Whiterun and of course Falkreath are already covered in small marks, and I'd even drawn up a caption on the back of the map to form a difference between forts, villages, mines, towers, camps – it's ridiculous _._

 _I want a bigger map, or a high quality one. This one's got bloodstains and torn edges and smudge marks. It would have gotten me zero marks back in school._

"You've been some places, haven't you?" She grins, peering over my shoulder in the dim light before pointing a calloused finger at a random point southeast of where I'd drawn a small circle to signify High Hrothgar. "Here's Ivarstead. The easiest and shortest route is a little while back, over a dirt path. I suppose you can note that down, too, since you've drawn symbols all over this old thing."

I sigh, but pull out a piece of charcoal to quickly scribble a simplified house, alongside ' **Ivrs**.' Just like Riverwood had been marked ' **Rvrw**.' To someone who doesn't know Dwemeris, though, it just looks like more unnecessary scribbles.

"I take it we leave tomorrow?" Anneke asks then, eager grin still on her face. "Tomorrow at dawn." I agree, taking my bedroll out of my knapsack and wondering when I'd have time for –

"Anneke, can I ask you something? Where do you bathe around here?"

Cold river water upstream is not exactly the steam-controlled, warm Dwemer baths, not to mention soap is a luxury here. _I am building a damn bathtub. With warm, running water, first thing once I get a decent house somewhere._ Luckily, there are some Dragon's Tongue flowers to pick, which aside from being useful in alchemy also smell rather pleasant… Though not very masculine, not that I should be caring. I'd rather smell flowery than resemble Skeever butt.

… _I can certainly do without the cold, though, I can't feel my toes._

 **A/N: I imagine my Dragonborn must stink to high heavens, covered in blood and dirt and filth and gore and never once bathing in the game. Please tell me what you think of my story so far – I'm building up to more important things, but I have enough wiggle room to make it go faster, if not as fun.**


	14. Sprint to High Hrothgar

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): a dragon being a little shit, people sassing and snark and getting in trouble. Flippancy,** _ **#SavePaarthurnax2kALWAYS**_

 _ **EARLY UPDATE! Why? Because I felt like it, that's why.**_

 _ **Last time…**_

… _I can certainly do without the cold, though, I can't feel my toes._

Chapter 14 – Sprint to High Hrothgar

…

 _Yep. I hate the cold. It's official. I hate horses. And the cold. My toes are freezing off, my ears are freezing off, my nose is freezing off - and thank Xrib for warming enchantments!_

My teeth clatter dangerously, my axe is bloody from a frost troll, and Anneke – _damn her, stupid Nords and their stupid ice resistance_ – is walking behind me. The woman seems peachy keen, completely unaffected by the freezing gales of wind whipping in our faces and the snow that stirs beneath our feet, making my movements sluggish even as it looks as if the knee-high frozen water doesn't faze her in the slightest. I feel betrayed.

 _Once I'm back off this accursed mountain, I'm using whatever money Klimmek gives me to buy a 100% cold resistant cloak._ Seven hundred, seven thousand or **seventeen thousand** steps, it feels as if there's no difference – some of the parts of the 'stairs' even go back down, rather than up, in a winding road up the Throat of the World.

 _Ugh. I want a good old Dwemer Lift._

"S-s-s-so help me K-k-Xrib, I'm f-finding a faster way up this d-d-damned mountain." I yell into the unforgiving wind, hearing Anneke snort behind me. I agree that there some humour in this, but before my blue lips can twist into a smirk I remind myself that I's not supposed to stand her right now.

At least someone could spare her a set of leather men's armour, so she isn't entirely unprotected against the barren cold. It barely fits her, though, so when I finally get back down – _where it's warm_ \- I will either adjust her armour or make her something better. Caught up in musings of armour, I barely hear the strange sound over the icy winds howling in my well-covered ears.

A roar pierces the air.

And not just any type, oh no. If only I were that lucky. No, it's a roar that has recently been featuring in my nightmares.

I freeze on the spot, eyes going wide as dinner plates as panic grips my heart. "Is- Is that a-?" I hear Anneke shout behind me in shock, and I swiftly turn and grab her hand, pulling her along as fast as I can until her legs start working on their own again. "DRAGON!" She screams, and I cannot help but curse loudly in Dwemeris.

Then:

"No fucking _shit,_ now RUN!"

She doesn't need any more encouragement than the blast of fire nipping at her heels, the scorching heat intensified thanks to the contrast with the air around it.

And then we're sprinting up and down the steps as quickly as we can manage, the dragon on our heels and the stone slipping underneath us. I let out a startled yelp when a blast of flame nearly sends me flying right off the slope of the mountain, and wildly waving with my arms, I escape death by the skin of my teeth, screaming like a little girl – which I know I will later deny.

The terror squeezes my throat, preventing me from drawing air even as I pant heavily, my vision wavering and narrowing down to only the barely visible road ahead.

"RUN FASTER!" I yell loudly, and when tiredness holds me back, dragging my feet, I down a stamina potion in one gulp, fumbling with the bottles between blue fingertips, throwing one to Anneke as I pass her by. "We cannot outrun it for much longer!" She calls wildly in return, uncorking the green concoction, ducking and stumbling under another fiery barrage.

I snarl, dragging her back up and ignoring the steam billowing from my arm, hot and painful and scorching against my too-cold skin. "We don't have to!" the monastery lies right ahead, two last flights of stairs leading up to stone double doors.

"Get inside!" I call to the miner, "I'll distract it!" _She has a family. I do not. Families always come first._ I think grimly, grimacing and drawing my weapons as I turn on my heels, the snow scraping underneath me proving my suspicions – footing is very unsure. The gales of wind whipping about us can easily blow me off this mountain.

 _Damn the Greybeards for living at a place so inconvenient._

" **OVER HERE YOU TOOTHLESS DUMBASS SON OF A BITCH!** " The creature eyes me in disdain as I swing my axe to draw its attention, the golden Dwemer metal gleaming with crimson red that splatters onto the white snow left and right. _Frost trolls are the least of my problems. Especially the remains of this dead one._

I keep taunting the humungous beast, praying that Anneke can get those Greybeards to at least come out to help me. _Whoever even said I was Dragonborn? I cannot use the Thu'um, as far as I know. Ugh, I never should have come here._

The irony that bandits always give that as a warning, yet they don't stand a chance to my axe, and now I didn't get a warning and I'm the one about to die doesn't escape me. My mind whirls and races with possible ways to get around the dragon, to escape and get inside the monastery.

On the outside, I just laugh hysterically as I dodge another fire jet, and this time, the dragon lands close enough for me to get a hit in. Within a few fleeting seconds its jaws come _far_ too close for comfort, and I cry out in alarm when I fall backwards and –

"FUS RO DAH!"

 _That wasn't me._

The dragon stumbles inelegantly, and I scramble backwards towards the steps as quickly as I can, facing the creature and glancing at the two men in grey robes up the stairs. I reach out using my inborn ability, searching – searching, aiming for that one smidge of knowledge, every last detail of it as it floods my mind. _What was that? It blew a dragon back!_

Fus. Force. First word of the Unrelenting Force Shout.

I bite my teeth, _Fus? Fus, is it? Xrib, Akatosh, whoever is listening, please..!_ I take a deep, shuddering breath, and the word seems to press against every corner of my skull, crawling viciously up my lungs and into my throat – the dragon pounces again, a bloody gash across its nose and even more livid than before.

 _Shit._ I want to say. Or better yet, cry out like a scared child.

"FUS!" Passes my lips instead, and it hits the dragon like a woman hits a man grabbing her – with a slap in the face. It's barely enough to stun the dragon. But it has to be enough. My throat burns and aches and scrapes as if sand has been poured down it, the sensation making me swallow involuntarily, sending fresh stabs of pain through my airways. _Can't pause. Can't wait. I'm so confused. This hurts._

I'm already back on my feet and running towards the beast before I'm even registering what I'm doing – then, very similar to what I did with Mirmulnir, I clamp my thighs on either side of the creature's maw after vaulting onto its neck, my dagger stabbing away at its eye violently.

After the third stab, the dragon collapses before lying still, and the steel breaks off and remains stuck in the creature's empty socket.

Holding the useless handle of my dagger, I let myself drop onto the thick layer of snow with an 'oomph', staying down as my ribs still protest from slamming into the dragon's unforgivingly hard scales.

" **I don't ever want to do that again."** I moan in protest, even as Anneke hurries down the stairs to haul me up and the dragon starts to dissolve into little, familiar pieces – **"Crap,** Stay back!" I call at her, and she stops dead in her tracks, eyes locked on the dissolving dragon on the doorstep of High Hrothgar. I have worse things to worry about than a dying wyrm, though.

 _I'm down to just one axe?! I really, really need to step up my game, why do these weapons shatter so easily facing a dragon?_ A pause. _Maybe… I can use the bone, too? A large weapon will be far too heavy for me, but, a dagger..?_

As with Mirmulnir, the light comes towards me, and this time I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself against the wave of energy that would have knocked me off my feet had I been standing. The feeling of flight overtakes me for a precious heartbeat, and I choke on a gasp as the pain sets in and the name – the name _Bexwoljul_ pounds against the inside of my head, within my skin, on my tingling lips.

The pain in my skull fades quickly, as it did before, and I remain on my back for a few more moments, trying to just _breathe._

 _I used the Thu'um. I shouted. I absorbed a dragon soul twice. I – Am I truly_ _ **Drak'nakaraat Threinmûr?**_ _Am I… Dragonborn?_

I sit up slowly, shaking my head so my hair properly covers up what I don't want others to see. Only then do I notice Anneke as she kneels next to me, her brow furrowed even as excitement and awe play in her eyes, warring with the type of concern only a mother can have. _It reminds me of Ma._ The memory of my mother looking at me like that send a dull spike of pain to my chest – dull compared to the heart-wrenching ache I had before, at least.

"Are you alright?" I shrug mutely, frozen in contemplation for a few moments more, before muttering a rough thanks as I get back on my feet with her aid, my eyes searching out the two men in hooded grey robes, while their gazes burn holes into my back.

 _And thank you, strange men, for not being useful AT ALL after that first Shout._

I look back at the dead dragon on their doorstep briefly, mostly unconcerned now that the threat has passed.

"Oops." I mutter, entirely unrepentant at the large stack of bones I find. I search around until I find Klimmek's supplies still tied to my knapsack, abandoned in the snow, and I drop it in the offerings chest even though I'm quite sure the Greybeards are standing right at the top of the stairs, seeing what I'm doing.

 _Call me petty for not giving it to them directly when they just let me fight a dragon ALONE._

Then, I take all my time to pat the snow off my clothes and armour, ignoring how Anneke keeps getting more twitchy by the second. "Let's go inside," I suggest when she seems too close to bursting at the seams for comfort, "it's far too cold to have a normal conversation here." Blinking lazily at her affronted look at my apparent dismissal of the honoured Greybeards, I stalk up the last set of stairs at the side the Greybeards are definitely _not_ , and enter the monastery.

…

The inside of High Hrothgar is dark, damp, still cold but not as much as outside, and all in all most certainly… depressing. _These Nords can really do with some colour. Like.. Gold. Or blue_. Like my people did for centuries because they have _an actual sense of_ _ **taste**_ _, ugh._ Greybeards, grey houses, what's next, friendly grey dragons? I snort at the thought, letting Anneke close the door behind us as I take slow, measured steps further in.

There's really not much of interest here, and the stonework is quite shabby, at that. _Not even the most accomplished mason could work well under these weather conditions I suppose._

From behind me, a voice suddenly speaks, and I spot four men in total even as Anneke lags behind in awed reverence. Of what, I cannot say. Surely not the architecture.

"So, a Dragonborn appears, at this turning of age." I turn on my heel slowly, not liking how they seemingly surround me thanks to many encounters with bandit groups on the road.

"I'm here because you lot caused an earthquake down in Whiterun."

I reply acridly, keeping my voice neutral and letting a little amusement seep in. Anneke makes a choked sound behind me. _Was that a supressed giggle I heard? Well, it would be odd for Whiterun to be the only city to notice the trembling and the loud yelling… I mean, the Thu'um._

I have respect for those who I feel earn it. Like Jarl Balgruuf, who remains steadfast in the middle of a war, doing all he can to keep his people out of the conflict. These men, whilst apparently owning powerful voices they've trained extensively, have not done much to gain my respect. While earning it is quite simple, really.

 _Such as, say, actually doing more to help me with the dragon than giving me a few measly seconds to gather my bearings_.

I manage a slightly strained smile to the man who spoke before letting my face fall back into neutrality. _I'll probably stay stuck on that one for a while. I can hold a grudge, when given enough reason._

"Yes. We already saw that you truly possess the gift, just outside." I nod tightly, refraining from cussing the man out only because of my own curiosity overruling the anger. "I am master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards." One of my eyebrows twitches upwards. _He calls himself Master? Is that arrogance, confidence, or ignorance I hear? Or perhaps he does not mean it in the proper, Dwemer sense of the word._

"Now, tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?" I blink in surprise, before drawling: "I already know about the legends of the **Drak'nakaraat Threinmûr,** master Arngeir, and what it means to be such. I might, however…need a little help in getting there. Guidance, if you will."

 _As much as my pride wants me to brush them off, I know I cannot find everything out by myself. I need someone to help me along, to guide me so I do not stray and let the power control me._

 _Also, shit, I'm_ _ **Drak'nakaraat Threinmûr,**_ _after all. I might as well write up a will right now._

"Indeed. We are here to guide you in your pursuit, as we have done to those of the Dragon blood that came before you." _I am born of dragonfire… I am not even a Dwemer, not fully. I am a dragon, just as much, if the stories are to be believed._ _Dovahkiin_ _._

"And I thank you for it." I answer slowly, "but, when you say… there were ones to come before me, am I not the only Dovahkiin?"

"You are not the first," the old man allows, briefly crossing his arms, "There have been many of the Dragon Blood since Akatosh first bestowed the gift upon mortal kind. Whether you are the only one…is not ours to know. So far, you have been the only one that has been revealed thus far. That is all I can say." I hang my head only slightly, feeling like a heavy weight has been placed on my shoulders. I'm troubled by this, I admit. I'm just…

"But… I'm just a _blacksmith._ " I struggle to find the words, even as the Greybeard stares at me with seemingly unending patience as I run a hand through my hair out of sheer frustration.

"I'm not even – **Xrib's forges** I'm not even supposed to still exist! People expect the Dovahkiin to be strong, righteous, brave, _a Nord_ , or at least of Men! How can someone like _me_..?" I trail off, defeat creeping into my posture.

 _Endure. Dwemer endure. Am I to endure this unavoidable fate?_ A shuddering breath leaves me. "Why pick _me?_ " It's hard enough being the last of my race assumingly left alive after being punished by the same gods that now force this path upon me. _Aside from Xrib and Sithis, what god or divine has ever bothered to help, if I'm meant for… this?_

"You are a Breton. Most consider your people to be of Men." Arngeir rumbles, and I chuckle dryly. "Actually, most consider my people to be _extinct._ " I look him straight in the eye. "I am Dwemer. I know the Calling, an inborn Dwemer ability that lets me draw experience from others, like how I knew to use the word of power seemingly just by hearing it." I bow at the waist. "My sincere apologies for gleaning information in your mind without your consent. It shall never happen again." I glance nervously at Anneke, who is busying herself with her nails even as I can sense her every sense observing us. Then I lean slightly closer to the Greybeard.

All things considered, he remains rather calm. Unfazed, even. "Reading minds alone is not enough to prove that you are of the Dwemer. As it stands, I ask you not divulge what information you found to anyone outside these walls, or even your companion." I agree easily enough. _It might be best to pretend to be a Breton of mixed blood, though I can't use a single spell._ "Regardless of your… heritage, we will do our best to teach you how to use your gift in fulfilment of your destiny."

I let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing my temples agitatedly.

 _Figured that so very few believe me_ – but have they not seen stranger things in this world than something seemingly extinct walking the lands, and I'm not talking about the seemingly mostly extinct _dragons_? _My people are… were, extremely advanced. What's to say Time travel hadn't been invented yet?_ The Elder Scroll my father had whispered to me about, the one hidden in Mzulft with the three keys held by the three connected cities, didn't that one hold information about time?

 _Shit, has it been left unattended for so long? What if the Falmer – wait no, if the Falmer had gotten to it none of these people would still be here by now._ I suppose I shall follow the simple orders of the Greybeards for now, and when Arngeir asks me if I can learn - "My father was a scholar and if I've inherited anything, it's his curiosity" - they reward me with two more shouts. The second part of Unrelenting Force and the first word of Whirlwind Sprint.

 _I wonder if I can glean this information from a dragon, since it's just parts of their language to them. Learning Dovahzul alongside more of the commonly used Tamrielic should prove useful. I might as well start calling myself a linguist soon._

Once Anneke and I are outside again, she bursts into chatter, clearly having held back out of respect: "I didn't know you were Dragonborn! You should have said something! I almost cannot believe this… I'd never thought I'd see the Voice used, nevermind by a friend! This… This… What will you do next? Shall we go retrieve this Horn of Jurgen Windcaller?"

I pause in my steps back down the mountain to regard her amusedly.

"I'm still headed to Riften." I remind her as gently as I can, "I've decided to visit Winterhold, too, if only to see the college. I want to know if the Voice is a type of magic or something different altogether, and I also wish to find out what my exact role is perceived to be by your people. The college of Winterhold has the highest chance of holding that information, as well as more on this… Windcaller person. Knowledge is power, and power is something I still sorely lack when going up against dragons. Who knows, they might even spare me a lot of trouble and have a Dovahzul dictionary."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and muttering about never trusting wizards, but the direction that we're headed is no longer subject of discussion, as she starts going on about Klimmek and gaining any possible discounts at the inn.

…

That night, I have yet another inexplicable dream. This time, the strange scholar doesn't show up. Instead, I'm a child again, sitting on my father's lap as he talks about concepts and ideas that my young self could never have understood. Now, however…

" _You see, Fjaldi. Time is a fickle thing. The slightest change, or shift, or action, or even a stray thought, can throw it off its path. Which is why something small, like the 'invention' of charcoal, can amount to something as great as our entire written language."_

" _But Da, what can a thought do? If I think of extra dessert, will I get extra dessert tonight?" A laugh, kind and deep like a drum, echoes through the room, the flickering fire casting omnious shadows on my dad's face, making it nearly unrecognisable. "Oh, but Fjaldi, don't you see? You being here, in this life and era, has already changed Time and Space beyond compare."_

I wake up drenched in cold sweat, breathing hard. I don't manage to fall asleep again.

 **A/N: A Dovahzul dictionary would save so much time. Learn all the words of power from a book. Just like you learn any other language. Can anyone make** _ **that**_ **a Mod? (For pc players, if anything, since I'm loyal to my PS4). Also, the situation with the dragon is the exact same as what happened to me in-game. I'm walking up the steps, when BAM. First dragon encounter where I have nobody nearby who can kill it for me. Scared me shitless that first run…**


	15. Riften

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Thieves. We're in Riften now, what do you expect?**

 **TWO chapters in Two days! Man, I'm on a roll!**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _I'm still headed to Riften. I've decided to visit Winterhold, too, if only to see the college. I want to know if the Voice is a type of magic or something different altogether, and I also wish to find out what my exact role is perceived to be by your people. The college of Winterhold has the highest chance of holding that information, as well as more on this… Windcaller person. Knowledge is power, and power is something I still sorely lack when going up against dragons. Who knows, they might have a_ _Dovahzul_ _dictionary."_

Chapter 15 - Riften

Anneke's eyebrows steadily rise higher as I talk, and I notice that she's still quite perturbed. "You know, the Greybeards are highly honoured all throughout Skyrim, yet you didn't seem to like them at all." She comments finally, a hint of bemusement – _for them? For me? –_ in her voice.

I eye her covertly. "They seem to think that the Thu'um is something used to find enlightenment. Whilst I suppose it can help enforce peace through… Well, fear and respect, I don't think it was originally meant for anything more than an instrument of war."

 _Jurgen Windcaller sounds like a crackpot, but I'm not saying that to anyone who is so awed by the mere_ _ **idea**_ _of the man._ For now, I'm headed to Riften as per my original plan. Then I'll go to Winterhold, and then I'll maybe come across Dawnstar when headed for Morthal, where I can fully prepare to go tomb-delving.

I refuse to go out of my way because some gods thought up a prophecy. It sounds like a bunch of hogwash to me, to be fair. And if the world burns to ashes around me… I guess I'll see what I'll do then. Somehow, I doubt much will happen soon.

… _At least, nothing concerning dragons. And speaking of tombs..._ A scowl mars my face as we move swiftly down the mountain.

I _hate_ the undead. I bite my cracked lips, tasting copper as I brace myself against another harsh tug of the wind. I hope I won't have to face any… But if possible, I'd rather visit the shrine to **Arnknurlaf** , wherever in Skyrim it might be. Perhaps she might give me her blessings to make dealing with the damned things easier.

 _Draughr, ghosts – the most terrifying thing is that they were all mortals once._

…

 _What am I thinking? I'd rather face a full Dwemer court for murder charges than face even one of those creatures._

" **Arnknurlaf save me should I face any of the dead in combat.** " I hiss under my breath as Anneke starts talking about one of her own more snowy adventures. I force myself back out of my distracted musings and give her a wan smile, focusing on the present and the prospect of a warm inn and a belly full of food and mead rather than the upcoming trials, just sitting there waiting for me.

"And, I mean, I am a Nord, and he was an Argonian, so I'm not really surprised to find that he couldn't stand the mere idea of wading into the water around the glaciers, but my husband just laughed him away saying that he'd go dive in to retrieve the sword from the bottom of the river. He used to be such an adventurer, I wonder what happened to him to cull his wanderlust. Might have been the birth of my daughter. A beautiful girl, available as far as I'm aware…" She trails off suggestively, side-eyeing me with a grin. _Wait what_?

"Do me a favour and don't try to set me up with anyone. Romance is the last thing I seek when neck deep in this dragon problem." I grouch when it finally hits me.

Anneke just laughs good-naturedly and claps me on the shoulder a few times. "You'll like Sylgia, I'm sure! Girl's always had a good head on her shoulders." We spend a few moments in peaceful contemplation before the traveller continues:

"Also, you said your father was a scholar? How come you're a blacksmith? Here in Skyrim most follow the trade of their parents." Now _that_ 's a topic I'm glad to start on about, since it's NOT about marriage or girls or… love and stuff. I give her a smile and eagerly begin to explain to her about my cultural heritage, something I'm quite proud of.

"Well, the actual title is Forgemaster, it means I'm a blacksmith who's also mastered the art of enchanting."

"You see, my people take their trade from their master after enduring several years of **general schooling** … Uhm, basic learning. A master is considered to be above excellent in their craft, and they can take on up to three apprentices at a time. My father might have been a scholar, but the ones most suited to intellect-based jobs are all hand-picked from the top students in school and… Alas, I didn't make the cut."

"My mother, on the other hand, was a true **A** \- uhm, craftswoman. In my case, I got lucky. My uncle took me under his wing, he was a Forgemaster as well. I learned all about the trade from him."

She nods thoughtfully, then starts asking questions on the subject, and before I know it, my throat is raw from talking so much, and we're back in Ivarstead, and Anneke lets me sit back and enjoy the show whilst she chews Klimmek out for forgetting to mention the frost troll. I'm a lot happier, after taking a while to process everything that happened at High Hrothgar and eating until my stomach is pleasantly full.

The road to Riften is wrought with, well, Frostbite spiders and trolls, mostly. _I wouldn't truly call that 'danger' compared to Mirmulnir._

We steer clear of anything beyond the main path, at my own insistence – plenty of time to explore those places at a more opportune time, when the mere thought of the College of Winterhold doesn't put me ill at ease, the sensation swirling in my stomach unnervingly sudden. _A sign, perhaps, that I must make haste. Mellte always said to trust my instincts._

I push the both of us to go as far as possible, the haste only letting up slightly once we reach Riften, having passed an enormous estate… for modern Skyrim standards. Anneke is more than happy to let me rent her a room before she immediately retires, not even bothering to drink, eat or wash up.

The woman might have been a true adventurer in her younger years, but those years are now catching up with her, as I notice by her stamina. _I think it's a good idea not to mention it to her, though_. Women seem to get angry when somebody hints or asks for their age, regardless of race or heritage. Women… Universally strange creatures that I can somehow figure out more easily than some of the other males I've known in my life.

The city of Riften is…an oddment and a half. One of the guards steps up to me with a shoddy iron sword and pretends he's tough. _You can't be serious. That blade wouldn't even pierce a wolf skin, nevermind proper armour._

I smirk rather disbelievingly as the guards make an attempt at intimidation, demanding tourist tax. When they name the amount of coin I need to hand over to gain 'permission' to enter their 'glorious' city, I start laughing outright. _These idiots are so painfully incompetent it's a wonder this place hasn't been invaded by the Imperials yet. A few coins and they'd likely turn on their fellows. Not that I'd mind._

Anneke joins right in and the guards seem incredibly miffed before she comments on calling in actual authorities to deal with the clear hoax, and, still sniggering, we're let in, albeit reluctantly so. I blink in shock when the gates fall shut behind us with an ungodly creaking noise.

 _Oh my, this place is a wreck._

…

The rickety wooden houses built _on top of each other_ and creak and wobble and the smells of rotting wood and fish permeating the area alone are nearly enough to make me turn tail and run, and I know I'm white as paper as my traitorous mind starts listing all the hazards of living here.

Major collapse taking a solid first place.

"I'm going to visit the temple of Mara." Anneke tells me with a small smirk at my scowl before she just… walks off and leaves me here. In the middle of the street full of unsavoury characters and beggars. A muscle in my jaw twitches as I scan the area from beneath my thick fringe.

 _This is absolutely ridiculous. Whoever runs this place needs a either a painful wake-up call or a cart full of septims to deal with the problems._

Just in case, we'd pre-emptively stashed our coin in as many different places as we could manage, and I carry my most valuable goods in the secret compartment on the inside of my armour, where even I can't get to without taking off nearly all my clothes. I'm glad I did that. Coincidentally, I also have over 700 coins stacked in that same pile, gathered from bandits and the like, and I walk lightly to avoid jostling the septims and announcing my target mark to all thieves in the city.

Markarth, in some ways, is easier. Murder complots are less straightforward, sure, but also give time to strategize a counter offense. If a thief takes my money, it'll only take a few seconds, in which they'll be long gone.

 _Though it seems my armour will keep all but the bravest at bay._ I can't help but grin with too many teeth as a red-haired man near a stall eyes me up and down warily before approaching. _The bravest man, or the most foolish?_

"Hello there lad! Interesting gear you've got there! Would an experienced adventurer like you be interested in my miracle brew? Falmer's blood, freshly harvested! It gives the drinker…" _I'll admit, the sales pitch is unexpected._ I stare at him blankly, one unimpressed eyebrow raised imperiously. This is the second scam in less than five minutes of seeing Riften, and I'm already getting tired. The next person will be promptly used as an example for the scum running around like rats here.

But aye, _a sales pitch_ , of all things imbecilic, is unexpected.

…

 _The hand sneaking into my pocket from behind is not._

I keep a completely calm expression on my face even as my own fingers encircle a thin wrist, currently deep in my pocket. The smile stays frozen even as I drag the hand to my front, sending someone dressed in odd leather gear with plenty of pockets stumbling with a yelp. _Not a good idea to make it this obvious. She'll show other wandering gazes where to find the loot._

"Falmer blood to heal all wound, you say? Like – healing a broken wrist, perhaps?" My eyes narrow at him, my ears trained on more unwanted breaths or footsteps. "Do you need a volunteer to test out your… wares?" I send the thief sprawling onto the floor with a shove of my foot. I give them both my most withering glare, relishing in their unease at being caught.

"I think it would be wise if you'd leave me be." I _hate_ thieves. Hate them almost as much as I hate draughr. To take what another has worked for, be it through labour or business - it's blasphemous, against the will of Xrib himself. _Also, shit, I made it obvious._

The man barely covers a sharp breath as my hand drops to my axe threateningly. I smile grimly. "Oh, and for the record… Falmer blood does not have regenerative properties. You'd have known that if you'd ever had the pleasure of being covered in the intestines of one." My smile turns feral, and I seize him up disdainfully.

 _I'm bluffing the shit out of this. Please do me a favour and do not notice. I don't know shit about Falmer blood, but since they are descendants from Snowmer who've eaten poisonous fungi, I'd say the blood is sooner damaging for ones' health than good for it._

I've given enough of a warning to sate the roaring dragon of anger in my soul at being harassed by money-grabbing hands three times in one day - quickly making me reach unhealthy blood pressure levels. I need a moment to myself to calm down.

 _If I'm robbed, I will find this infamous 'Thieves' Guild', let Anneke travel to Shor's Stone by her lonesome, and acquaint their prodding fingers with my axe._ The severity of the thought shocks me, but as I walk brusquely towards the sole inn in the city, the Bee and Barb, I don't let it show on my face.

Inwardly, I'm panicking – _What is happening to me? I have never been this violent, or soon to anger before!_ I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, letting a frown form on my face. Tonight, I'll trade a few hours of sleep to properly meditate away any lingering remnants of whatever is influencing me like this. That the influence is probably a Dragon's soul only makes it more unnerving.

 _Will I become more of a dragon with every soul I take?_

The next morning, I'm a lot calmer, and the first thing I do is apologise to Anneke. I've meditated the absorbed dragon souls into the back of my mind as far and deepy as possible, going back to my weapons training's base principles.

"I'm very, very sorry for my behaviour as of late. I'm afraid those Greybeards got to me more than I'd like to admit." I sigh in a low voice as I sit down opposite her. She rubs her temples with a wry smile. "It's fine. I kind of saw it coming after I noticed how you treated them – you were lashing out." ' _Like a cornered animal', s_ he leaves unsaid.

"You know the legends surrounding the World Eater, don't you?" I ask, a wave of exhaustion leaving my aching muscles twitching weakly as I lean my head heavily in my hand, poking at the eggs, cheese and bread that constitutes as my breakfast. "I do." She agrees easily, not having any problems devouring her own food at all. "Which is why I've decided I'm not angry. That vendor you spoke to yesterday might be a bit miffed, though."

I laugh softly, unknowingly drawing attention with my next comment: "He can be angry all he likes. I have more experience with Falmer than he'll likely ever will. Pity I don't have a mage along, it makes setting foes on fire so much more easier than using torches." As I finally dig in, having cheered myself up at the thought of setting the ghosts of the past on fire rather than letting them haunt me, the sole unoccupied chair at our little table scrapes against the wooden floorboards loudly.

I glance up as a handsome, brown-haired man in battered mage robes sits next to me with a distinctly arrogant air about him. _Like D'is from next doors used to have when challenging Mellte_ , I note absently, more concerned with why he's butting in so rudely.

The unknown grins impishly, like the cat that got the cream. I merely raise an unimpressed eyebrow. _And what are you doing here?_ "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, and I must say I agree completely. After all, the only thing better than a powerful mage at your side is… nothing, really."

 _Charmer alert._ I muse, not a little sarcastically. All I know is that this guy's been listening in on my conversation, public as this place might be, and it throws me off, so to say. It makes alarms ring in the back of my head and I don't like it."Any reason for eavesdropping?" _In a city of thieves, being straightforward sounds like the best plan. That blonde earlier, Mjoll or something, seemed to think so too when I spoke to her at the gates._

At least now the Imperial seems rather sheepish. "A master of the Arcane like me has a good reason for anything! Perhaps I'm just concerned for your safety?"

The barmaid, an Argonian lady named Keerava, snorts into her drink and starts coughing behind us. "Don't listen to that mooch," she advises once she's standing up straight again, glaring at Marcurio as if he's personally offended her. _Then again, he probably has. He reeks of alcohol and those robes means he likely can't afford said drink._

"He came here boasting about his power and proceeded to empty his coin purse on drinks." _There we go._ Always nice to have a hypothesis proven.

Anneke is already joining Keerava in this unofficial glaring match, and I'm briefly reminded of days long ago, where girls would say much the same about Mellte.

" **Won't ever get anywhere, that boy.** "

" **I caught that brat of Sorthdvr sneaking ale again. Bad habit, that.** "

" **Can you please keep a better eye on Mellte tonight? I don't want to waste all the money on his drink.** "

 _Ahh, Good times._ I snort as I watch the ongoing exchange between the barmaid and the mage humorously. The roaring fires and low buzzing of voices, as well as the warmth and the food serve to put me more at ease even under the present circumstances.

 _Mages are a topic of interest, though._ "I've never met a mage not carrying the title of Court wizard. I'm curious, why come to Riften in the first place? Are you with the college of Winterhold? If so, what can you tell me about the structure of the place, I heard there's been a collapse? Also, if not with the college, where did you train? Are there many places like it? What is magic and what spells do you know? Which laws of magic do you think has -"

I cut myself off abruptly when I notice that literally every person at the table, including Keerava is dead silent and staring at me with something akin to shock. Startled by the sudden attention, I duck my head and clear my throat awkwardly, carefully avoiding eye contact.

"I'm… sorry. But at the same time, I'm not." A pause as I come up with an impulsive idea. _That… Might actually work out in my favour_ : "Answer my questions and I'll consider paying to have you along, for simulating conversation if not much else." I offer the man, a mischievous smirk on my lips.

 _Sue me for not asking Ondolemar about all this when I had the chance._ The mage needs a few more seconds to collect himself, before grinning. "I have a better idea. I'll answer all of your questions after you've paid a modest fee, and while we're on the road, I'll bring my formidable arcane powers to bear against those foes of yours, as a nice bonus. What do you say?"

I look at him up and down a few times, critically taking in the torn robes, the reek of alcohol, the aristocratic jawline, and the lack of callouses on his hands. "No deal." _I can just take Anneke to Shor's Stone and run off on my own for a while again_. He pouts childishly at me, but relents. "Alright. If you change your mind, I'll likely still be here."

Even though he told me he wasn't going to answer any of my questions, I soon find myself in a fascinating discussion about magical theory. Not my strong suit, since Dwemer don't use any magic but their inborn abilities, such as the Calling, but I manage to keep up with his fast-paced talking and ask and debate about most of the topics he brings up.

 _It's a miracle some human like this can keep up with a Dwemer in terms of intellect. Other than Farengar, whom I saw making a few mistakes with his Soul gems, I really haven't met anyone. Not even Ondolemar keeps up once I get technical and hypothetical._

All in all, I have a grand evening.

…

Unfortunately, once I'm in my bedroll, Anneke sleeping soundly on the bed next to me, the nightmares of my family's disappearance haunt me once more. This time, their eyes shine, shine a bright light like the sun, like the Dwemer scholar on the platform, and I wake up drenched in sweat with my cousin's name on my lips.

The door is open, and someone's in the room. When I yell in surprise, they startle violently, sprinting out of the room whilst Anneke's knapsack hits the ground, the contents scattering all over the floor, waking their owner in the process.

I spend all of two very, _very_ confused seconds sitting upright in the darkness before Anneke screams something vulgar and I'm up and moving.

As I find myself running and hollering after a thief in the middle of the night in my underclothes, guards jumping in to shoot the quick and annoyingly persistent bastard, I decide that no matter how much I like the new faces in the Bee and Barb, I _still_ don't like this city.

 _Might as well built a house in the middle of nowhere rather than in any major hold city. Primitives can't just solve the problems they create, can they?_


	16. Getting to know you

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Many questions are asked. Few are answered. Someone we all know and hate (I hope) is dead. Spoilers?**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _As I find myself running and hollering after a thief in the middle of the night in my underclothes, guards jumping in to shoot the quick bastard, I decide that no matter how much I like the new faces in the Bee and Barb, I still don't like this city._

Chapter 16 – Getting to know you

…

"Anneke, you _know_ you can't travel like this. You'll have to wait and heal here, before you can even _attempt_ to return to Darkwater Crossing." I admonish the stubborn woman as she sits up on her makeshift cot in Sylgja's house. It had only taken two hours to get to Shor's Stone after leaving Riften in the early morning, but upon arrival, we'd soon been notified of a spider infestation in the mine that the people here rely on. Anneke immediately agreed to help them - before I could even get a word in otherwise. _Like Oblivion I'd deal with any nasties voluntarily._ Which is why now, she's stuck in bed with a mangled leg. _And yeah, I fully blame mrs. Adventurous for that, because she really ought to have known better than to pull that stupid stunt she did._

After all, when we were in Riften I'd expected her to stock up on arrows. But I should have figured that she wouldn't have the coin to buy enough. As things turned out, in the middle of being besieged by a large group of spiders, hard to see in the red mist hanging low above the ground… Anneke ran out of arrows and one of the larger beasts got her from behind. _Ugh. Humans._

Now, both mother and daughter are recovering from injuries received in the mine. I'd be laughing about the irony if not for the painful memories their family interactions brought up. Lucky for the man of the house and last member of the family, a courier came by carrying a letter for me from Jarl Siddgeir, about a plot of land being for sale, should I be interested. _Maybe in the future, sometime, when I survive all these dragons._ Of course, Anneke jumped on the chance to send word to her husband, and the courier?

Well, he was just happy to have business.

He's bloody well insane.

"I can… still walk." The current object of my irritation and worry claims between gritted, unfairly pearly white teeth. "Not long, or very far. You can't even get to Riften like this." I observe slowly, as if explaining the matter to a small child.

 _This stubbornness all Nords seem to possess might be useful in some situations, but at times like these I wish they'd just shut up and do what's best for them._ "Besides, stressing your injury like that might cause permanent damage. You're staying here."

Anneke, blonde hair whipping around her face and charcoal-lined eyes blazing like fire and brimstone, lets out a frustrated growl and opens her mouth to start shouting before Sylgja tactically intervenes: "Mother, he's right. The priest of Mara that healed me told me that even spells or potions can't make up for proper rest. Since I no longer need my letter delivered and the spiders are gone, I can rest easy, and take care of you as you've always taken care of me." I smile faintly at the young woman – she's got a good head on her shoulders, that's for sure. _She's not my type, though._

"Anneke, it was a joy to travel with you, but I'm afraid it's time we part ways." I tell the ex-adventurer as carefully as I can, guilt gnawing at my stomach like wolves gnawing on a fresh kill. It's mildly nauseating.

 _If only I'd been faster to notice her situation, I could have prevented that beast from harming her if only I'd been more alert._ She pats my arm a few times, looking off to the side in chagrin, before I rise from where I'd been sitting in a rickety wooden chair, pulled up next to the cot.

I stretch my aching shoulders, feeling and hearing a series of satisfying pops as the tension from the fight leaves me.

"I'll go back to Riften and see if the priests of Mara there might have something better than those potions I gave you to heal her. If not, I'll go on my way." I tell Sylgja as I walk down to the road, the other miners in the settlement calling their thanks after me as we go down to the main road. "Also, thank you for the rations." She smiles genially, crossing her arms and tilting her head pensively as she watches me leave.

"Anytime. You saved this mine from trouble, and carried my mother back out while fighting spiders, no less! I'm thankful. If you need more food, come by. Oh, and While you're in Riften, can you check something for me? I've heard rumours that old Grelod, in the Riften Orphanage, was murdered, but I find it hard to believe. You're passing by here again when going up north, right? Can you verify the rumour for me?"

I glance briefly over my shoulder to nod at her. "Oh! I almost forgot! I'd avoid fort Greenwall if I were you. I've heard the Stormcloaks have settled there!" _She'll be a good friend. And a good wife, to whomever will be lucky enough to have her. She's honest, bright, and genuinely cares for her family. I know Dwemer who would challenge each other to a duel to death for her hand. Not me though. I'm not looking for romance right now._

The road back to Riften I only recall vaguely, caught up in my own thoughts as I take the sandy path rather than the cobblestones. I don't feel like being mistaken for a thief or other enemy when facing a large force all by myself.

…

At the temple, someone tells me that no, aside from potions or a healing spell, there's not much they can do besides regularly change the bandages around Anneke's wound. _Sylgja will take care of that._

I wind up loitering about the marketplace, to the wary confusion of the vendors as I examine their wares and have a chat with the Argonian jeweller about forging silver versus gold necklace chains. Finally leaning against one of the small walls, I keep one eye out for any pickpockets-to-be as I contemplate what to do next.

The answer, in the end, seems glaringly obvious, like the moons on a cloudless night. _Or like a giant club to the face, depending on who asks._ Of course, it will all depend on whether or not I find the cocky bastard worthy of my time after the first week of being on the winding, empty Skyrim roads.

Unbidden, a small smile crosses my face before I make a – _heh –_ beeline for my target.

…

The Bee and Barb is more peaceful and empty than last time, I note as I pass through the doors. Probably because it's only two in the afternoon and most folks only come by in the evening, when work is done.

I hear whispers of the orphanage wench everywhere – _so, that woman is dead? From what I heard just a few minutes ago, bitch had it coming. Was it the Arentino child Ysolda spoke about, I wonder..?_

The mage I met last night is sitting on the bench next to the other exit, eating plain bread – not even a small hump of cheese, or butter, to go along with it - with a look of distaste written all over his face, clear as day.

I stride up to him purposefully, sinking down onto the creaking old wood next to him.

"Do you ever run out of magic during a fight?" To most that probably sounds like a ridiculous question, but… I deem it important to know.

 _I'm not angry with Anneke, not really, but she should have told me that she was low on arrows. Stupidly stubborn Nords. Maybe this man will be different? He's certainly more intelligent. And not a Nord, if I learned anything from Aicantar._

"Actually, I don't. Just like _you_ never run out of fucking questions." He replies sourly, taking another vicious bite of the sorry excuse of a meal. I glance at the brutally mauled piece of bread blankly for a few moments. Then:

"What was your fee, again?"

Now _that_ catches his full attention. _Wasn't one of those Imperial stereotypes that they were overly fond of riches? Coins? Jewels? Maybe I can get away with paying him in armour? I have the materials to spare._ The mage leans back semi-casually, eyes sparking with interest as he looks me over like a sabercat assesses prey, then looks around as if searching for something else.

"Oh? So you've finally acknowledged that you couldn't stay away? I get it of course. You didn't even bring your lady friend I see. I suppose I should thank you for that courtesy – the ladies can never get enough of me. As for my fee… It's only a modest five hundred gold, dear traveller."

 _Okay first of all Anneke is already married you lecherous leech. Secondly I highly doubt he attracts the right sort of women with THAT attitude, though I guess his looks go a long way in that regard. Thirdly…_

I can't help but laugh at the ridiculous amount of money he's asking for. _What's up with that price? I can get Skyforge steel for less!_ Good thing I'm willing to, ah, compromise a bit.

"How about a test run?" I offer off-handedly, watching his gaze narrow in pensive surprise, "I hire you for a hundred. Then you prove yourself skilful enough to be worth the rest of the sum, and I'll give it to you... Be warned, though, that I set very high standards for someone claiming to be a 'Master of the Arcane'." I give him a predatory grin, almost sure that he'll back off and decline the offer.

 _If he does, I guess I'll be off on my own after all._

"Do I get a proper challenge, then? Not just any old Frostbite spider, I should hope. I want to be able to show off when you come with an offer like _that_."

My mind briefly wanders to the dragons that seemingly always wait for me specifically to show up somewhere in these lands of snow and ice. "Trust me, if you can hold your own against what I have in mind, you're _more_ than worth your fee."

 _No room for unearned arrogance in this Grand Lift, oh no._ I think rather vindictively, having a vague idea of what lies ahead in the near future. _Prove your worth in combat, and I think we'll be seeing a lot of each other in the next few months._

 _If this man - Marcurio, was it? - doesn't lay off the charm, though, that might give me more trouble of a different sort than I'd be comfortable with… Oh well, he can always be ditched near some cave later._

"Deal." My eyebrows disappear above my hairline as my eyes widen briefly in surprise. Unbidden, a grin crawls onto my face as I take out a hundred pieces of gold of one of my many purses and pass them to the mage, under careful scrutiny of Keerava. "Consider yourself hired. Grab whatever you need, we leave immediately."

He mirrors my toothy smile right back at me. "I'll follow you anywhere, just don't try to walk straight into a spike-filled pit or a filthy Skeever den." As he stands and has a brief talk with Keerava, I observe him silently for a few moments, a strange feeling of uneasy excitement settling in my stomach even as I can't help but wonder…

 _What am I getting myself into?_

…

 _I got myself into a really irritating mess, that's what._

 _Does he ever stop talking?_

 _I'd guess not._

 _Where does he even keep all that air? Must be in his oversized head somewhere. Would that mean he has lungs where brains should be, or does he have a second set of smaller lungs somewhere? Hmm, questions, questions, and no chance to ask because the bastard won't. Stop. Talking._

… _Would he stop when I throw a rock at his face?_ Is what I wonder a scant few hours later, walking down the road with my map in front of my face as I mark the path leading past Fort Greenwall, which I hadn't drawn there yet.

"So… I've also heard you refer to yourself as Forgemaster back there, what kind of job is that? I surely hope it's dissimilar to catching thieves in the middle of the night, screaming in a different language and only wearing underwear?" The infuriating mage asks, humour evident in his voice as his lips twitch upwards sporadically.

The tips of my covered ears burn a bright red with a mixture of indignation and embarrassment. "Must you be like this?" I question dully, not even glancing at him as I deftly fold the parchment map and tuck it safely away. Carefully weighing my words to describe my craft without making a lingual error. "A Forgemaster is both a master blacksmith and an enchanter." His eyes light up in understanding, and I sense a thirst for knowledge there, as well.

 _Perhaps we might be not too different after all..?_

"So you're familiar with the Arcane Arts, then? From your questions yesterday I hadn't thought you were. A friend of a magical amateur, at most." I give him a confused look, even as we pass Shor's Stone where the distant noise of pickaxes can be heard. "No. That's what a mage-smith or a **Magecrafter** does… that is, literally translated, 'Craftsman that works magic'. A… Mage-crafter, so to say. They're the Master enchanters, and pretty much the only ones back home to use magic for other things than that at all."

He frowns pensively as I give a friendly wave to the watchman at Shor's Watchtower, who lazily salutes me in return. I mark the spot on my map, for which we pause briefly. Marcurio takes that moment to ask the dreaded question: "Say, that language and those jobs aren't familiar to me at all. What race uses it? I've been all across Tamriel – it sounds very gluttural, almost Orcish, but it's definitely less growl-y. And you use more consonants in a single word than most people use in an entire sentence."

I don't turn to him as I mentally prepare to give an honest answer. _Even if he thinks I'm a lunatic, he's still stuck with me because I paid him. Aside from his mostly positive-seeming opinion of me… I have nothing to lose._ But before I can open my mouth, he charges his hands with fire. _He's using fire magic, by the forges that's AWESOME. I never actually saw it in practise unless a bandit was trying to turn me into a human torch._

Distracted from the enticing flames that bring to mind a billion questions by a low, inhuman growl, I spot the _trolls_. The three trolls sprinting at us at full speed. I pause. Blink twice.

 _Oh._

My axe is in my hands soon after, and I curse out loud, vowing to myself that in the next city, I _would_ ask for nearby Dwemer ruins and I _would_ forge myself a proper second axe and a new dagger. I feel unbalanced with just one weapon. _Saved by the bell. Or in this case, the trolls._ I think as I quickly look back at Marcurio before charging the creatures with a wild laugh. The mage at my side attacks them from a distance, fireballs impacting close to or against the trolls, and with the help of my axe, they go down with ease.

"You're not going to tell me that this was your challenge, right?" He asks sceptically, and the look on my face must have answered for me, since he just groans and clutches at his chest. "Oh, the pain of not knowing..!" He winks at the unimpressed tilt of my head and my blank expression. "Don't worry, with me at your side, you don't have to fear anything!"

 _Actually, I fear having to deal with your continuous chatter might be the death of me._

For a few hours, I start to sometimes comment on the mage as he tells tall tales about his previous exploits and skill in magic. It only spurs him on further, and as the man starts babbling about yet another Nordic tomb he supposedly wants to visit, something about a 'Gauldur' and yet _another_ legend lost to the ages, I lose interest, instead observing the landscape when he animatedly jumps into the air, as if facing invisible draughr enemies. But his voice remains just another background noise to me.

I suppose I get used to any annoying sound if I hear it long enough.

The trees, the rustling bushes, the faded yellow grass gently swaying in the wind, the many rocky slides and slopes like sturdy guardians of the land, the colourful, aromatic flora - and the deer and elks scuttling away as my gaze falls on them all together join to form a picturesque view of the area, framed by a bright blue sky. It is a beautiful day, really.

I'm glad, travelling in the rain is annoying.

Scenes like these are why people choose to romanticise dragging your tired, aching feet along miles and miles of no-man's land with only the clothes on your back and the thoughts in your mind. Nobody who's never seen hide or hair of a live wolf would ever think of the treacherous dangers hidden in the beauty.

Still… Marcurio waves a hand in front of my eyes and I startle, sending him a glare as he grins and continues to speak and articulate as if he doesn't realize I'm done with listening.

I roll my eyes at my companion's overly dramatic gesturing, spotting something familiar in the corner of my eye – "Is that a Dwemer construct I see?" I muse to myself, but of course, Marcurio hears it as a question. We pause in the middle of the road, the rocky wilds around us all dancing inconspicuously in the pleasant Second Seed breeze.

"Well, it sure looks like it. We must have missed the right path by a mile." Marcurio drawls, though I can sense his excitement like electric charge tingling in the air. I look back, and sure enough, it's all wilderness where there should have been a cobblestone road.

"Let's see if there's something else rather than just this one building." Marcurio continues, walking up the dirt path and the stairs, underneath the Dwemer arch, and I purse my lips briefly. _Shouldn't I be the one calling the shots?_

I follow him regardless, curiosity burning brightly when we soon come across a relatively small building, by Dwemer standards, with a domed roof out of Dwemer metal. Far better than the remnants and the tower-like structure we just saw.

"So, we're lost." I deadpan, nevertheless walking up to the construct as the mage follows closely behind. "Looks like a storeroom of some kind. There's probably a city nearby." Inwardly, I'm dancing in joy. _If it hasn't been robbed of all valuables, this place is perfect for gathering some metal to forge an axe!_ The Dwemer doors beckon to me, and as if mesmerised, I run a hand along the carvings. Since leaving Markarth, I hadn't seen any sign of my people's existence. If I hadn't had a lifetime of memories, I'd have started to doubt if they were ever real.

If Dwemer existed. That is.

Biting my lip, I try the doors, and with a loud noise that has both my companion and I wince and scan the area for enemies immediately, one opens. Nothing comes jumping out at me from the dark, and when Marcurio whistles and tries to pass by me, I drag him back by his clothing. "Are you _mad?_ There could be any kind of traps or tricks or beasts in there!"

"A true master of the arcane can handle any threat!" He feebly protests, already falling behind and looking quite pale, though he juts his chin out proudly. I merely groan and drag a hand down my face tiredly. "All the mastery in the world won't save you from _being impaled on spears_ or being _pelted by_ _poisoned darts_." That said, I carefully check the entryway and the space right beyond it, seeing no tell-tale holes, strings, or pressure plates. "Alright, should be fine. Let's go."

 **A/N: I want to put in so many details for even the most minor part of plot, it's ridiculous. I spent a whole chapter on a single cave a few chapters back, didn't I? Ugh, Skyrim is so vast, I'll never get all I want on paper. Anyway, reviews are love! (They make my day, seriously)**


	17. Continuity

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Short chapter. It's nightmarish.**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _A true master of the arcane can handle any threat!" He feebly protests, already falling behind and looking quite pale, though he juts his chin out proudly. I merely groan and drag a hand down my face. "All the mastery in the world won't save you from being impaled on spears or being pelted by poisoned darts." That said, I carefully check the entryway and the space right beyond it, seeing no tell-tale holes, strings, or pressure plates. "Alright, should be fine. Let's go."_

Chapter 17 - Continuity

The main room, so achingly familiar though I've never set foot here before, looks to hold no traps or valuable secrets – as expected of what looks to have been a storeroom. The assault of dust near my nostrils as the air shifts for the first time in centuries should have also been expected, but I still find myself doubling over in a sneezing fit, eyes watering at the small particles flying into my face at the slightest move or provocation.

 _Nobody has been in here since it was abandoned, not recently at least. There's no indents in the dust anywhere._ I scowl at Marcurio as he prods and pokes around like a fascinated researcher, like _Calcelmo_ , before letting go of my anger with a meditative sigh and a wry shake of the head.

 _To humans, I suppose the Dwemer are worthy of study. Sithis, I would study us_ _ **myself**_ _had I been in their shoes._

Leaving the man to his investigation, I seize up any Dwemer metal lying about. The convector, innocuously dropped on the ground from where Marcurio is standing with a halfway sheepish grin and his hands full of small thingamabobs, is pretty much the only thing of interest in the room.

Though I guess everything here is somewhat 'rare' as it isn't being produced by my kin anymore. "Whilst exploring, try not to walk into any 'spike-filled pits or filthy Skeever dens', alright?" I mutter drolly as the mage drops yet another item in favour of another, the 'clang' echoing through the main chamber.

Watching his face fall before letting the mischief show on my face, I move to do a little prodding around myself, passing the convector from one hand to the other as I test its weight and sturdiness. "This is a storeroom," I inform Marcurio, "probably nothing to worry about. I want to see what city this is from, though. It should be quite close."

 _This is either Eastmarch or the Rift, the far east of Skyrim. In the mountain region here there should be several ruins, like Mzulft and… Raldbthar? Right. Probably. Why did I never pay much attention during geography class, again?_

… _Whatever the reason, it must have been a stupid one._

"Can I keep whatever's interesting?"

"Sure."

"Good. You see, I found this odd little gem right here…"

I don't bother to look, merely humming in agreement as he prattles on. Let Marcurio keep his trinket – it's probably just another sapphire or ruby. I've seen plenty of those in my life.

I first move to the door right next to the entrance once everything of interest has been observed. The lock is fairly easy to pick – Taking the picks off of bandits as I went had been a good idea, _unlike not following geography lessons,_ and so I have plenty to break, should it be necessary. It isn't, and the two chests, both unlocked, as well as the veritable treasure trove of ingots would have been worth every pick.

Standing in the opening with Marcurio peering inquisitively over my shoulder, I can only stare blankly for a few heartbeats, hungrily drinking in the sight of so many raw materials to work with in a world where my favourite metal is scarce.

Then I promptly remove my knapsack to see what I can miss.

 _Let's see… Coin, more coins, even more coins, food, water sack, more food, emerald, some garnets, my notebook, charcoal, map, spare leather and leather strips, needle, bedroll, pan…_ "Marcurio? I need you to carry some things until we get to Windhelm."

He blanches, eyeing his own already bulging pack from where he'd stuffed it with all kinds of oddities and trinkets and gems he'd found along the road. Pretty sure he even keeps a dead Orc's old tusk in that thing, as well as enough venison to feed the Imperial army.

"I am an apprentice wizard, not a pack mule!" he finally snaps, righteously indignant for all of five quiet seconds before he shuts his eyes and groans mournfully. _Hah, he knows it's because I pay him and he's got to do whatever I tell him to, the poor sod._

"Fine. But make it quick." _Is being an apprentice wizard the same as being a master of the arcane?_ I wonder somewhat bemusedly, probably not grasping the subtleties of the Tamrielic language just yet.

"Alright. Here's most of the rations, some leather and strips, and my gems. Don't even think about taking anything for yourself. I'm going to sell and use up most of it around Windhelm." The mage just sighs again, coughing at the dust particles the action causes to fly up his nose, and takes it, filling his own knapsack. I fill my own to the brim with ingots, coin, scraps and a set of gauntlets I discovered in one of the chests. I also grab all the lock picks.

The expertly locked gate at the far end of the room proves more than a challenge to those same lock picks, but I manage… My stock of picks dwindling down to a meagre six. Marcurio snickers while I work and as I glare down at them with a pout.

 _It's not fair. I'm a Dwemer, I'm supposed to always have a – a key._ To a place not part of even my own city. Yeah, right.

I fill my knapsack to the brim with even more metal, the worn leather groaning under the pressure, and then grab the Dwemer axe – standard quality. Low power enchantment of… absorb stamina. _I already know this one. Better sell it and make a new one myself._

We exit the room with heavy packs, but I, at least, have a brand-new spring in my step. "You only have an iron dagger, don't you?" I ask the mage, not waiting for an answer, "I'll make you a new one out of these. Any enchantments you want?" He frowns pensively. "Enchanting? I'm afraid that it's…not my strongest suit. I suppose it would be nice if my foe froze for a few moments so I could get a breather."

I nod along with him as we move further up the hill, the Dwemer city's ruin looming ahead, three majestic golden towers gleaming in the early evening light. The doors won't budge, though, and I'm secretly somewhat glad. "I suppose we can set up camp here. I'll take first watch." Marcurio scouts the area, using several spell to detect nearby creatures or people – alive or dead, he said.

 _Do dead creatures give off an aura at all? Is it necromantic in nature? I wish I knew how all of it worked. Even though my race is still known for their vast knowledge, even I still get uneasy of things I don't understand. Like the violent Nord culture. Or Marcurio – I mean, magic. Like, not understanding magic is making me uneasy._

 _Maybe Marcurio can tell me more about the spells in his repertoire._

I settle down for watch in front of the fire, the ruins at my back and leeks cooking. I also chop up some venison and flatten some garlic with a piece of scrap metal, adding it to the leeks and meat with a bit of water. It's not ideal, but it's quite edible. I look up at the mage when he enters our makeshift 'camp', and the man plops down gracelessly on top of his bedroll.

"You know, I consider myself sort of an expert on Nordic ruins, but you seem to know a lot about Dwemer ones, yourself, even though you're a blacksmith." I hum around a spoonful of stew, giving him a look that screams 'so what?' even in the dwindling light. Inwardly, I'm resigning myself to a lengthy explanation or a huge amount of frustration, maybe even both. _Here we go._

There's nothing to distract him from his inquiry now, and I do make a point of at least being honest, if not much else. "Hn?" I hum, egging him on, trying to get it over with.

He shrugs with slightly narrowed eyes, gleaming in the firelight. " _How come_ you're an expert? Earlier, you didn't answer my question about the language, either. Are you some sort of hidden scholar, researching the Dwemer in the guise of a smith?" _Oh. Sithis' balls._

Even as he grabs himself a bowl of my culinary creation, I snort and drain my own bowl of its contents, as if chugging an entire bottle of liquid courage instead – _I could use one of those actually_. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, you recognised the storeroom right away. It could have been anything – a watchtower, a trade point, a kitchen, a farmhouse… But no, you immediately called it a storeroom. And you knew about possible traps, what type and where they'd be. If you're not a Dwemer expert, what are you?" _Whelp, Meridia help me, I'll just tell him outright – Here goes nothing. "_ A Dwemer." To give more credence to the unbelievable truth, I tuck my hair behind my too-long, too-pointed-for-even-Altmer-ear and look him dead in his brown puppy eyes as I say it.

He looks at me for a few moments, then glances at my now uncovered ear, the point still growing and within a year, impossible to hide. Unlike Altmer, Bosmer, Orismer… or any other race in Tamriel.

For minutes, the clearing is silent, then he lets out a shaky sigh. "Say that I believe you. How are you here? Is it because the dragons are also coming back?" I flinch slightly. _The last thing I want anyone to think is that I'm here because of dragons. People might think I'm on the damn lizards' side._ "I don't know. I woke up in a ruin not too long ago."

Marcurio drags a hand down his face tiredly. "I need to think about this for a while. Sleep on it. Meanwhile? Let's hope that no bandits stumble across that storeroom tonight and decide to investigate." I agree right away, already cheered by the fact that he doesn't dismiss it easily. _I don't think anything is impossible here in Nirn…_

…

 _I'm back in chains, the same room as always, but clearer than before. The central circle, which was all I could see before, is but a platform in a far vaster space. Where am I? The walls are still distorted, pipes twitching and writhing and the carvings forming slowly turning spirals. What is this place? The dark blue mist renders the floor and ceiling invisible still, but the view I burn into my mind. Why do I see this every time I close my eyes?_

 _I need to remember this place. Where is it? The same researcher from before stands deathly still, the machines not making a sound. The silence is far more unnerving than the steam pumps could ever be. Why are they not working? There's a curved mirror on the far wall, a sphere bend inwards, surrounded by delicate golden spikes. But it doesn't show the room I'm in. What..?_

 _An eerily familiar scene unfolds in the mirror device:_

 _How..?_

 _A small, barely lit campfire sheds light on the two figures, one curled up in a bedroll, the other sitting and poking the flames gently. I recognise the mage in the scene. And the one that's asleep._

 _That, that's…?_

 _My own face, troubled even in slumber, and the ruins of Mzulft behind me. My eyes snap open violently, brilliant gold boring into mine, shocked, looking into my own eyes as -_

I shoot up in my bedroll in a moment of utter panic and confusion, letting out a cry of alarm as I try to escape the chains that aren't there, to shake the image of looking into my own eyes away. Marcurio jumps several feet high, shock spell at the ready before he sees it's me. He's startled, but so am I. A few beats pass, black swimming in my vision, my heart racing miles per minute, before my companion suddenly walks up to me and slaps my face. Hard.

I need to remember to breathe.

Taking a deep, gasping breath, my lungs immediately insist on a painful coughing fit. _These… These are definitely no normal dreams!_ I'll admit, I'm quite disturbed.

"You weren't breathing. What in Oblivion just happened?!"

I stare at Marcurio, still partially caught in that room, in that mirror, in a daze. " **I had a terrible vision, and I have no idea what it is or why it's happening to me but I want them to just – s-stop.** " My voice hitches and I draw my knees up to my chest, an uncomfortable position when wearing full armour, and cover my face with my arms, fingers clutching at my hair as I try to take steadying breaths.

 _I had hoped they'd stopped._ Another shaky breath passes my lips. _I must endure._ It takes a few moments to gather myself before giving the mage a wan smile, barely visible in the darkness.

"Bad dream."

Understatement of the day.

He scoffs and sits down. "If you call that a bad dream, I wonder what classifies as nightmare." Pretending to think about it, I crawl out of my bedroll fully. "Oh, draughr and vampires are downright nightmarish to me, I assure you." I look up at the night sky, the stars winking innocently and the moons dying the world in pale colours. "I'll take watch. I can't sleep right now. You sleep instead."

 _What in Mundus was that?_

 **A/N: Up next, EXTRA LONG chapter to make up for the shorter ones I've been putting up lately. Who knows, might even take on dragons again. Also, for future reference: I think it's ridiculous how you end up joining four or seven or whatever amount of organisations in Skyrim. Not all of them should want you to join. Example: When joining the Companions, honourable warriors, one should not be allowed in the Thieves' Guild, and vice versa.**


	18. Windhelm

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Long chapter! Windhelm is a cold, motherfucking mess! Also dragons.**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _Oh, draughr and vampires are downright nightmarish to me, I assure you." I look up at the night sky, the stars winking innocently and the moons dying the world in pale colours. "I'll take watch. Go to sleep."_

Chapter 18 - Windhelm

I'm not in the best of moods the next morning, not surprising in the least for either me or my wizard companion. A set of charming – _yeah right. In my dreams perhaps_ – bags frame my eyes like bruises. Marcurio takes one look at my generally bedraggled appearance and remains mercifully quiet, with only two comments…

Per minute.

 _I swear, he's hell-bent on making me even more miserable. Can this day get any worse?_

To be honest, had I been in a better mood I'd have appreciated the witty banter the Imperial unfailingly provides. Now, I don't feel like participating much at all, and I let more than one semi-insulting comment pass over me with nary a twitch. I know there's no true venom behind even his most scathing words towards me.

All of Mundus is apparently conspiring against me on this misty Loredas morning. A distant roar, painfully familiar and not in a good way, has the hairs on the back of my neck rise as a dreaded winged shadow passes over the two of us, temporarily blotting out the sun entirely.

Cursing in my native tongue without any preamble, I drop my knapsack on the side of the road, drawing my axes and taking a defensive stance right on that spot, leaving the still surprised Marcurio standing confusedly in the middle of the road.

"Remember that challenge I mentioned?" I call out at him as the dragon roars again, homing in on the seemingly lone mage with the abandon of a Centurion on an intruder. Said mage lets out a slightly hysterical laugh, charging his spells regardless of the trepidation he surely feels, summoning a flame atronarch and putting up a ward.

" _Challenge_? This is a suicide plan!"

He barks out, throwing the first lightning bolt. I observe him – he shows no fear, and his abilities aren't bad for what I assume is a standard wizard. _Not bad at all._ A feral grin nearly splits my face in half and I snicker at the man who holds his own quite well – then a second, loud roar echoes from another direction, definitely not the same as the dragon now landing in front of Marcurio to snap at him. The laughter dies in my throat quite abruptly.

Uh-oh.

 _TWO dragons? Sithis damnit all._

The second winged worm wastes no time approaching Marcurio, who has his hands full with the first bastard, and I don't pause to think when I sprint towards the mage, slamming into his side before jaws large enough to fit six grown men snap shut audibly with bone-breaking force at the exact place my companion was only just standing.

"Pay attention." I yell at the mage, cursing myself and the situation that required a near-deadly rescue attempt, before turning to the dragon. "Have a taste of this – FUS RO DAH!" The giant creature is blown back like it was whipped in the face with a hammer large enough for its monstrous size. I give it no time to recover and try to aim for a clothed lunch once more, deciding to trust Marcurio to take care of the second menace, and, taking a steadying breath, I _move._

The battle rages for what feels like _hours_ when the first of the dragons – Marcurio's target, to both my surprise and mild satisfaction (and envy) – falls to the ground with a last roar of defiance. I brace myself and fall back into a defensive stance, backing away from 'my' dragon as it looks at its kin, appearing almost confused. As if the death of the foul beast doesn't compute.

Then the soul of the other beast – Vodbahnil \- spirals towards me and I grit my teeth to remain standing as it whirls around me like a maelstrom, the loud voices bouncing around my skull. The pain fades as quickly as the first time this happened, but a mild nausea lingers even as I face the second foe.

The still nameless dragon pauses.

I grin with far too many teeth.

The scaled creature is intelligent and has more of a sense of self-preservation than its fellow, as it tries to take flight even though it's bleeding profusely.

"TAKE THAT!" …It also makes the large mistake of not taking the mage in my presence into account – and it collapses back to the ground when a large spike of ice impales its left wing, the other leathery appendage beating erratically as the dragon wails in pain. "Dovahkiin, NO, WAIT!" My eyes go wide.

In the corner of my eye, a sizzling of magic and a taste of heady ozone in my mouth has me cry out: "MARCURIO, STOP!" The mage aborts the spell in the middle of charging it, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he comes to stand to my right a few feet away. I don't even spare him a glance, keeping my eyes trained on the second dragon.

"Tell me, why should I spare your life?" I ask breathlessly, licking my chapped lips and holding a hand to my side trying to keep my laboured movements nonsuspicious, clutching where the damn thing had tried to use me as some sort of… chew toy – but Mirmulnir's scales had proven adequate protection against that. It would leave hideous bruises, though. _I'm insanely lucky it did not catch me in the leg._

"Zu'u los krosis, Dovahkiin. I am sorry. I am Raanjudiiv. I had not thought one of mine would find you. One of our eldest and honoured Zeymah, kin, who is like the vahzah thur on the tallest strunmah ko keizaal calls for help. I cannot reach him. None of the Dov can… Not those in their true forms." I change the grip on my axe slightly with narrowed eyes, even as Marcurio's jaw hits the floor quite comically.

This, of course, changes the game. And also begs the question:

"What do you want from me?"

The dragon almost seems to _be grinning. Gods, that looks unsettling._ "Rok is Vulthuryol. Dark fire king. He lives in the Deep. And calls for aid. _Your_ aid,  Dovahkiin." Now, I'm officially confused and not a little frustrated with the continued use of Dovahzul, which I don't speak, and general vagueness the dragons appear to be quite fond of, if this one is a leading example for the rest of the species.

"What deep? Underground? Dragons underground? What aid? What are you talking about?" The creature – _Raanjudivv,_ I remind myself, rumbles darkly. "I do not know. My task and business with you is done. Do not expect mercy a second time, Joor." And he – _it? She?_ Stumbles off, into the wilderness. It leaves a filthy taste in my mouth to think that the Dov will likely not last the night if they cannot fly by dusk. When Marcurio finally snaps out of his daze, I've already picked up my pack and shouldered it, prepared to set off again and think properly on the strange encounter.

"You – Did you make a deal with dragons to create a challenge for me? You're dragonborn? What's going on?" He demands, sparks clinging to his fingertips. Instead of answering, I sit down in the dirt, forming small clouds of light dust around me.

A few minutes pass in stunned silence while I rifle through the knapsack, before the mage doubles over with an 'oomph!', hands automatically clutching at the large purse, that weighs about as much as a solid ebony children's playball. "You're apparently worthy of my time and investment, Marcurio. That I _do_ know." I lean back on my hands, tilting my head back allowing me to look at him almost upside down, whilst at the same time letting the now slowly starting rain cleanse my face of blood, dirt and sweat. Quite refreshing, since we're as close to summer as a land as Skyrim gets the right to be.

He just stares at me as I down a stamina potion first before giving him the answer he actually wants: "As for the dragons, that was unplanned. I'd expected only one to show up, since the people of Shor's Stone warned me of a nearby burial mound. Yes, I'm Dragonborn. No, this is the first time a dragon has deigned to speak with me rather than try to brutally murder, maim, maul or otherwise bring severe pain upon me. I have no fucking clue as to what's going on here, either." I stand up to stretch luxuriously, only to wince at the ache in my side.

"If you're injured, I've got some potions. I'm running low, though, so once we're in Windhelm, I'll be visiting the alchemist."

He's still utterly, uncharacteristically silent as the mage takes in what just happened to him, taking the change of subject for what it is. I hold out a potion for him to take with a raised eyebrow. "If you want to back out of travelling with me, I won't hold it against you." _It'd be a waste not to have the wonderful view and intellectually stimulating conversation, though._ But this wizard either doesn't take the hint, or refuses to acknowledge it. With a mischievous and eager grin, he takes the potion and downs it gratefully, throwing the empty bottle over his shoulder to be forgotten.

"You're mad if you think I'll pass an opportunity like this. Lead on, oh great Dragonborn."

I groan in exasperation even as we set off again, my chest not feeling quite as heavy as it had before even though Raanjudiiv's message has greatly confounded me. What am I saying? I'm confounded they had a message at all.

 _I'll see where the road takes me. If I find that dragon, Vulthuryol, I'll see what it wants. Until then, I'm still going to visit Winterhold. I have a feeling that that's the place I want to be right now._

We pass Kynesgrove without encountering any trouble aside from a snide comment of one of the guards regarding my heritage. I wonder why these primitives are so narrow-minded - only seeing the good in their own racial superiority. All races have something to offer… _Maybe it's a good thing that my own people are gone._

 _A Dwemer is prideful, and when one of these men accidentally verbally assaults a noble… I suppose that if the Dwemer still lived, we'd have taken over all of Tamriel by now. Not sure if that'd be so great, either. The slavery ma always fought against seems to have been abolished, for one._

As I let my mind wander and my feet follow the road, the landscape gradually changes from forests, tall grass and rocky hills to snow and ice and mountains as far as the eye can see. It's also reached ungodly levels of _cold._ The gates leading up to Windhelm are rather imposing, and the whinnying of horses pulls me back to the present at last, causing me to glance around until I spot the hooved, saddled banes of my existence.

I frown and shy away from the large animals even as Marcurio snickers. "Is the great Dragonborn afraid of a teensy horsey?" he teases, and I turn my frown to him as it darkens into my usual scowl, hissing: "Don't call me that. I'm Fjaldi, just Fjaldi. If these people find out, they'll try to recruit me into their petty little scuffle."

The mage shakes his head wryly, walking a little faster so he's moving right next to me, and I can almost feel the warmth he radiates through my clothes. _How are the people of Skyrim not as cold as the snowy places they deem fit to inhabit?_

The guards let us both in without much trouble, but Marcurio is warned to keep an eye on 'his pet elf'. My ears are still covered – _Sithis, are these guards TRAINED to differentiate between a Man and a Mer? That might prove annoying…_ I have to grit my teeth not to lash out at them for being so degrading. Straightening, I clench and unclench my white-knuckled fists to keep myself in check. _I should fucking teach them a_ – I clear my throat slightly, abashed, derailing that train of thought and observing the happenstances in the city around me instead.

…

As we stand in front of the tavern, we decide on a small plan: Marcurio will visit the alchemist to purchase potions, as well as sell some ingredients I'd gathered along the way. After that, he'll go to the market to but fresh produce, and then get us a room at the large inn, where he'd pack accordingly.

Meanwhile, I'd go explore the city and visit the local blacksmith. Then after gaining permission to use his or her forge, I'd make a new axe, improve it, sharpen my old axe, and then proceed to sell all the materials I won't need. If Marcurio doesn't show up at the forge by then I go to the Palace, where I'd try to explain to the court wizard that I _must_ borrow his enchanter for a bit, and won't he pretty _please_ accept a few coins for the trouble (and his silence)?

As I descend down a long set of stairs, I'm eyed warily by Dunmer walking to and fro, most carrying items or clearly having a purpose to their steps. Almost subconsciously, I adjust my pace and walk to match theirs, wary, quick, no-nonsense. The buildings towering above me are in a clear state of disrepair, dark and dreary and broken at the edges. Wooden planks board the narrow windows, and the sun barely reaches the uneven, overgrown, narrow path running between the buildings. _Is this a… What is it called? Slum?_ The elves walking around have gaunt faces and troubled gazes, and I keep my own eyes ahead.

"Hey, you." I don't pause, they must be addressing someone else, I don't know anyone here. "You in the fancy scale armour." Now, I scan the area warily, until my eyes meet those of a stern Dunmer woman, standing on a porch with her arms crossed. "What are you doing here?"

"Where is 'here'?" I ask carefully, hand twitching to my axe. She seems surprised, at least. As if I'd straight out admitted to actually being an _Imperial spy_ in disguise. "You – you don't know? This is the Grey Quarter. Where all the dark elves go because Ulfric doesn't lift a finger in our defence and we're apparently all imperial spies." _Oh hey, colleagues._ Instead of coughing suspiciously at my own stupid joke, I look around the mess that indeed turns out to be a slum –

"So wait, you all live here because you're Dunmer?" She walks down, and by now we've caught the attention of some of the other residents, who all stare at my like I'm a lost animal.

It's… rather unnerving.

 _The situation is worse than I anticipated. If this is what the Stormcloaks stand for, I think my sense of morals might force me to intervene with this civil war even though I really don't want to. It's like Riften's beggars and thieves, only these people had even less of a chance._ I bite my lip harshly as she tries to placate me, or herself, it's quite hard to tell over the loud screaming of denial emanating from every pore of her being.

"At least we're allowed in the city. Khajit and Argonians all have to stay outside the walls." The woman adds, as if it's an afterthought, as if it's no big deal. _That sort of mentality is what ma always called the 'source of all unfair chances'._ I tilt my head. "This city is deplorable. I'm glad I'm only passing through."

The Dunmer chuckles, but it's wan and humourless. She then decides that I'm not the bad sort, and informs me on more of the city's problems that aren't being addressed thanks to the Stormcloak rebellion. Like the serial killer called the 'Butcher' that murdered several young women. And the drunk making the Grey Quarter a noisy place at night. And the fact that the Shatter-Shields are rumoured to have deals with pirates, undermining the other traders.

Throughout her story, I cannot help but get the sinking feeling that I'm going to be getting involved in all of it. Of my own free will, because honestly _this cannot be true. What kind of disaster zone is this?_ I'm tempted to run to the Palace where this Ulfric character lives and reprimand him like my ma used to reprimand me.

This city is similar to a Dwemer warzone. Conspiracy, complots, murders in the night… My heart aches for the poor sods that have been victims of the systematic racism and insanity within the walls.

I leave the Quarter as quickly as I can after that, seething with anger even as I play nice and manage to finish my work at the blacksmith's place. The Enchanter is trickier to get to, since I can't help but glare at the man sitting on the throne, well-fed and covered in expensive furs while the ones he's responsible for starve and freeze.

 _I want things to change here. But… Do I have the right to meddle?_ I resolve to ask around more first, and maybe Marcurio has some ideas – he's been in Skyrim for longer than I have.

…

When I find the mage sitting in our shared room – they only had one free – that evening, I start off with the standard pleasantries: "This city is a gods forsaken mess. What in Nirn is Ulfric thinking?" Of course, I'm still sensible enough throught the hazy curtain of rage to wait with speaking until after I shut the door securely behind me.

The apprentice wizard nods along with me absently. Then: "I know. I took a little walk, and the people I spoke to all said much the same drivel. Back in Cyrodill, some of them would have already been either discharged or banned. And I'm not talking about the Argonian dock workers."

"I haven't visited those yet." He gives me a sidelong look, pursing his lips darkly. "Perhaps you should." I shake my head with a low growl, dragging a hand down my face before dropping my new weapons and a spare dagger to hand to the mage on the bed rather carelessly.

"There's also a Dwemer ruin nearby, hounded by a group of bandits whose leader is infamous enough to be known by name in these parts." Seems like I'm not the only one who got his share of gossip today. "Alain Dufont, right? Cheated on his Markarth girlfriend to run away with a Shatter-Shield?" I add somewhat dubiously, not sure if what the Dunmer people in New Genesis Corner were telling is a hundred percent fact.

"Huh, that's a bit more than the Alchemist's assistant told me. A honest-to-Dibella Reach woman, huh? Best not to tangle with those if you're not planning to get serious as the Rattles with them."

I start unbuckling my armour, the clasps still freezing cold even as the rest of my body is growing uncomfortably warm because of all the fires in this place. "I sold most of what I'd planned, but we're still carrying far too much precious materials for me to be okay with. We're just asking for robbery at this point." I grouch as we're exchanging today's other interesting happenings.

The mage hums around a bottle of Black-Briar mead. Disgusting stuff, yet he likes to down it without even a grimace _. Let his taste of mead be a thing we agree to disagree on_. "I might have an idea," he finally drawls thoughtfully. "There are plenty of people in need of help here, a serial killer on the loose and all that pleasant stuff. Maybe you can buy the empty house here, Hjerim, after you've earned favour, and put everything you don't need in there. Like the storage space near Mzulft."

I spend a few moments thinking it over. Then: "I suppose… I suppose Winterhold isn't that urgent."

 _Nor is the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, to be honest. The greybeards should know that a 'dragon' like me doesn't follow orders well. Neither do Dwemer, for that matter. I'll go get that thing when it's damn well convenient for me personally._

 _If they wanted someone who'd bend over backwards to be honoured, they should have appointed a Nord. And Hjerim… wouldn't be my permanent home, right? I can always sell it later once I've figured out where I really want to settle here in Skyrim. Falkreath is still looking best, and that's…kind of sad._

Marcurio grins. "Alright, so here's what I know…" _I'm so happy I started a travel journal to keep track of all the things I still have to do._ I find myself thinking halfway through. Windhelm really is a mess, and some of the things the mage mentions sound like entire quests for some shitty novel. _This is going to get me all across Skyrim, isn't it?_

…

 _I knew it._

Needless to say, we spend the next few weeks running about the city and the surrounding area to solve problems, meet up with Ulfric Stormcloak and his court members several times without Marcurio blowing the man up or me trying to chop his head off in a truly gargantuan joint effort, and then go dungeon delving in no less than _three_ Nordic ruins, making Hjerim as a storage space even more important. _The secret room is an added bonus. And the place is made out of stone._

 _I can almost, almost, deal with the fact that I'll be officially 'living' in this warzone with a hypocritical, annoying, bigoted, xenophobic, racist man running the place half-assed because of a conflict he instigated. I just really, really need a place to ditch all these ingots and gems and spare armours. But what's more annoying…_

The endless racism. The endless, frustrating doubt in my ability, my parentage, my mother's chastity, my strength, my _job,_ my _honesty, my fucking everything._

 _EVERYTHING they CAN make into an issue they MAKE into a fucking issue. Who even CARES if I have Altmer in me several generations back aye or nay? Gods, what's-his-name, Talos? Talos. Talos, tell your people to stop making Mer, Argonians and Khajit such a big problem when the actual problem is non-existent or caused by Nords themselves. If they keep going on like this, they'll HAVE imperial spies in the Dunmer and it'll be their own fucking fault in the first place._

I let out a frustrated sigh as I stalk out of the Palace of the Kings agitatedly, Marcurio on my heels. _Whatever, it'll be their funerals, not mine. I'm staying out of this Civil War-thing._

I buy Hjerim to get the Steward off my back and see to the gory scene left by the Butcher being cleaned up. Then I buy the furnishings for the bedroom and kitchen areas – the most important ones. Ulfric isn't all too happy about it, wanting to leave a house free for a new Thane.

Marcurio shoots him down so _brutally_ , downright majestically, that I'm tempted to slow clap. A memory to recall on dreary days, for certain. And now?

Now we're both sitting on the bed in Hjerim, crossed-legged and each nursing an ale, having just dumped all the precious metals and gems from all over the ruins we'd explored in the hidden room, leaving a few silver ingots and a bit of jewellery out in the open to fool thieves.

"I'm just glad we helped that Alchemist out before he died." The wizard mutters, leaning back contently. I sigh, "And that we made the women in this city feel a little safer." Even as I say it, my gaze drifts to the magical bottle given by said late Alchemists' assistant, now serving as a decorative piece. At least we'll never 100% run out of healing potions now.

Marcurio chuckles. "Are you just going to ignore the fact that you also broke into houses, stole some valuable items from one person to give to someone else, and massacred a group of pirates and some other unrelated people?" I shrug and drop back on the bed with a grunt. "No comment. The pirates had it coming though."

The mage laughs loudly, having consumed two bottles of alto wine earlier and being a bit more tipsy than he's been in the past few weeks. We needed this evening to unwind. _Both of us. For Sithis' sake_. "And the Shatter-Shields, though." Now, I also can't help but laugh, even though I know it's bad to do so. "I mean, Dibella's tits man," the mage continues, dropping into a conspiratory whisper, "you go and r-ruin their entire – _hah_ \- wealth and worth behind their b-backs and meanwhile they're – HAH! – they're _thanking you, oh gods._ "

 _I'm so damn cruel for finding this funny, but the sheer irony is just so…_

"L-Let's just keep that first part to ourselves. I think we may end up having a severe problem. And, speaking of problems…" I say, changing the subject and trying yet failing to keep myself from becoming as excited as a child on Midsummer Day's festival.

A raised eyebrow is my only response. "You having bad dreams again?" I make a vague hand gesture to the bags now semi-permanently under my eyes. "No, really? Never would have guessed. No, I'm talking about the fact that Alain Dufont has been a larger pain in the butt than usual and something should be done before he _makes_ himself our problem."

The mage agrees easily enough, a simple shrug all the agreement I need. "Sure. When do we leave?" I eye the Imperial whom I've spent quite a lot of time with, taking in his new adept robes of destruction, glass boots and bracers, enchanted necklace, Dwemer dagger and all, with his reddened cheeks and shit-eating grin from consuming too much alcohol, too quickly. My own cheeks seem to turn to fire when that smile is turned fully to me. _I need to cool off. I was right. This man is a Major Problem._ "Now."

I stand abruptly, ignoring his indignant whining as I forcibly turn my mind to more sobering things. Like the nightmares. _Sobering enough._ "Wait, Fjaldi? Fjaldi, why so fast?" Marcurio complains loudly even as I throw my knapsack over my shoulder. "Because…" Uhm, "Because if we're fast we can ambush them before sunrise. It's not far from here, is it?"

He shakes his head – I'm not sure if it's in answer or in dismay at having to move out after dinner.

I can't bring myself to back off now though, he'll surely notice something is nagging at me if I do that. Especially with how well we've come to know each other over the past few weeks. "So then, we're off once again. To… Ra-bat-hair?" His tongue twists around the Dwemeris in a way that makes a snicker escape me. "Raldbthar." _He never did say whether or not he believed my heritage, though. Oh Adrienne, what I wouldn't give for your voice of reason right now._

"I hope we don't run into any nasty surprises while we're there." The mage muses as we walk out into the snow. I pull my new scarf a little higher to cover my nose properly. "It's just a Dwemer ruin and some bandits, Marcurio. We're not going to clear the whole thing like with those draughr-infested pits a few days ago. What can go wrong?"

 _Famous last words._

 **A/N: I love cliff-hangers, but only when I'm writing them. To be fair, you can likely guess what happens in Raldbthar, with Alain Dufont.**


	19. A Dwemer, a mage and

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Canon-typical murder & gore (not very detailed). Dwemer defence mechanisms are brutal. The suspense is **_**killing**_ **me, who's our mystery guest?**

 **I'm a bit late, exams screwed me over.**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _It's just a Dwemer ruin and some bandits, Marcurio. We're not going to clear the whole thing like with those draughr-infested pits a few days ago. What can go wrong?"_

 _Famous last words._

Chapter 19 - A Dwemer, a Mage, and…

It starts with the surprise attack of a Frost dragon called Thongaavul, who tries to kill us not fifty steps from Windhelm's gates, sending horses into a panic and guards into shooting and missing with useless iron arrows. Seriously, at least upgrade them to _steel_ arrows if you want to do more than just tap the bastard's overly shiny scales.

"I suppose we owe you our thanks, mage." One of the guards hisses dissaprovingly at Marcurio after the creature lies dead, not even noticing the lightshow caused by my presence as the blonde Nord glowers. "But we had it under control. Keep your parlour tricks in the college where they belong, away from us decent Nord folk."

For the first time this week, _I_ am the one trying to calm _him_ down instead of the other way around. "You're above their level and we both know it. They would have died without us and we all know it. Calm down Marcurio – it's not worth the damn trouble, they've already given us more than enough of that already." The mage sighs wordlessly, unclenching white-knuckled fists with a scowl. "Fine. Next time they'll find out that mage fire hurts just as much as dragon fire. I will roast them above a spit like the disgusting pigs they are."

I snort. "I'll help you pin them there when you do."

Then the guards finally connect the whole 'eating dragon souls' to me being Dragonborn and all Oblivion breaks lose.

"An Elf? An elf is the Dragonborn? Surely the gods are joking!" The first guy, who'd been so pleasant towards my companion, gapes at me in disbelief. _Sheesh, these guys are quite slow on the uptake, aren't they?_

"Haggor, stay professional. Jarl Ulfric will want to have him on our side. The Dragonborn of legend will boost morale and have people all over Skyrim flock towards our true cause." The second guard reminds him, his face covered so I cannot see who to pin the blame on. _Also, I'm standing right here? Why discuss political plots where you're going to manipulate me when I'm standing right here? Dear Sithis these Nords are idiots._

"So, elf, I mean – Dragonborn. You have been in Windhelm for quite some time. Does that mean you will be joining our cause? Fight for Skyrim's freedom and the Great Talos?"

"No. I'm not joining the Stormcloaks _or_ the Imperials because I hate all of you indiscriminately." I hiss at the uniformed man as he just. Keeps. Putting his foot in his mouth.

"But – But the last Dragonborn was Tiber Septim! And he became Talos! Talos worship was banned by the Empire, how can you not want to fight for that?" _Do I even want to answer that? And I can't really follow the logic here, either. Xrib's forge, make it stop. I can handle only so much stupid because I snap and murder people._

… _Not that it'd be a great loss in this case._

I roll my eyes, re-adjusting my bracers and wiping my bloodied axes in the snow. How do I explain in a way that their feeble minds understand? "Listen, human, I'm all for people believing whatever they like, whenever they like, but I'm not going to respect your faction as long as you disrespect my very existence. I bid you both goodnight. Come, Marcurio, did your stamina potion kick in yet?"

Blatantly dismissing the two befuddled Nords, ignoring the whisper of ' _useless, pathetic, primitives. Be better to just kill them_ ' in the far reaches of my mind, I curtly glare at my companion as he gives me a slow clap while we walk off.

"Bravo, you just pissed off an _army_. They'll go whining to Ulfric about this and he isn't going to be happy." I roll my eyes, adjusting the grip on my axe tersely. "They insulted you too, didn't they? I can't believe that I might be forced to actually pick a side once the news spreads. And I've no doubts it will."

Marcurio mutters something most likely annoying under his breath. "Or, we could have waited for actual _dawn_ before heading to a bandit and who-knows-what-else infested ruin. You know, like normal people. People who drink alcohol during dinner and don't expect to be forced out in the cold directly afterwards, for one." I raise my eyebrow at him humorously.

"Oh, you mean 'normal' people like _you_?"

He gives the most sage nod he can give and chortles when I'm so occupied giving him a rude gesture that I stumble over some loose rocks on the road and nearly bite the snow. "You made a little mistake there, 'curio." The mage startles at the nickname even as I inwardly curse myself to Oblivion for letting it slip so casually.

Luckily Marcurio always recovers quickly from surprises and he picks up the conversation again easily enough, keeping both eyes on the darkened road ahead. "I make no mistakes." The Imperial bluffs haughtily, puffing his chest like a proud peacock.

"No, you do. After all, you said 'normal people' and actually dared to put yourself in that category. You're a total nutjob that likes setting his allies up to be used as electrical conductors during a fight." The mage makes a small protesting noise. "That was one..! Okay, maybe several times. Still better than letting out a war cry as you launch yourself off a _four meter high platform_ to land on a _Draughr Deathlord's back._ That, my friend, was being a nutjob."

"Hey! At least I wasn't standing around peeing my pants over facing the bastard!" I snap right back, remembering _that_ particular part of the encounter quite well. "It took you over a minute to react. You could've been dead by then." _He had almost been dead by then, if I hadn't Shouted at the same time as that Deathlord did Marcurio would've…_ I bite my lip and look away sharply as we move steadily uphill, crouching low and sticking to the dark shadows to avoid being seen by our enemies before we spot them.

"Fjaldi? Hey, it ended up being alright, so don't beat yourself up over it." The mage comments in a low voice after a long moment where neither of us speak at all. I only grunt in reply, having finally spotted the signs of a nearby ruin I'd been looking for – worn and beaten down staircases.

"Shh, we're here. And we're not alone." _And I'm not beating myself up over it._

The bandits outside are easily dispatched once Marcurio starts flinging Ice Spikes with deathly accuracy. I barely have to lift a finger. "So, Mr. Dwemer Expert. What can we expect in this place, Raldbthar was it? _If_ we chose to examine the whole thing, that is, and not leave right after dealing with Dufont."

I give him a sideways glance, then think back on the classes I had as a kid – most of which I can barely remember. "Raldbthar, due to its location closest to Morrowind, aside from Mzulft, was a place where traders often stopped to rest before heading east to Nchuand-Zel and other Dwemer cities. Raldbthar is one of the Aetherium Three, meaning it has an entrance to the cave system of Fal Zhardum Din. It's mostly known for that, and I'm afraid it's not much use for actual exploring, since we don't have the key."

Marcurio blinks at me before I try the gates. "Once we're done here you'll be telling me more about that cave system _and_ that little nickname you deigned to bestow upon me, you know." I nonchalantly push the doors open ignoring him and ducking to avoid any possible arrows – but none come. I frown, looking into the hall to only see a bloodied corpse and to smell the heady scent of spilled blood where I'd anticipated more live bandits.

 _Someone else is here._

"Fine, but be quiet now. Something's wrong." I kneel down next to the dead body, feeling the hide-clad woman's wrist. Warm. The pool of blood surrounding her is a deep, fluid red. _This is fresh. Not even five minutes, I'd say._ Then I spot the large gash, like a neat line drawn across her throat deep enough to nearly decapitate her.

 _Fresh corpses. Brought about by a professional killer, no less._ "Whoever did this is still here." I deduce out loud in a low voice, judging in part from the bloody footprints heading away from us, but not back, and the lack of death's reek in the air.

Marcurio hisses softly, keeping his back firmly to the wall. I eye the flamethrowers in front of us. People are still talking up ahead. _That's Dufont talking alright. Seems like he and his men are still alive. So, the mysterious killer is just ahead of us._

A bubble of excitements wells up in my chest even as my throat goes dry. I lick my lips in anticipation, gaze on the bloody footprints in front of me, headed towards a side entrance formerly used by Dwemer guards to quickly get to any newcomers and identify them.

"Marcurio." I whisper, and the man just groans softly, resigned already just from hearing my tone of voice. "We're going ahead." He follows on my heels, silently charging spells in both hands. It was the very first thing I made him learn after I found out it was possible to cast without the buzzing, the rattling, the humming or the flashing lightshows – but mainly because of the _noise._

If Jenassa taught me one thing, it was that the silence before the storm was key to a swift victory. Moving ahead, we only find more carnage. The living area floor is covered in blood, and before we even move three steps ahead the mystery murderer isn't the only one trailing blood via their footprints.

I scrunch my nose in disgust even as Marcurio shudders silently, taking extra care not to step on the bloodied patches or the corpses strewn about.

 _Oh, this person's_ _ **good. If the dragon was any indication of our luck tonight, this killer is better than us.**_ The thought has me falter in my step for the briefest of moments – brief enough to hear noise up ahead. I exchange a swift glance with Marcurio, who's frozen in the middle of collecting pieces of Dwemer metal to smelt later, before I hurry ahead, leaving him to trail behind. "ASSASSIN!" Someone, a male voice, calls out loudly, the sounds of weapons being unsheathed and screams bouncing off the walls.

I jump over a dead patrol and turn the corner, finding two beds with a neatly beheaded body on both. Moving onwards I stop dead in my tracks when I spot a person collapsing to the ground in a spray of crimson, splattering against the red-and-black uniform of the other – an Argonian wielding wickedly sharp dual knives.

I've my axes already drawn to block the first deadly slash with a growl in protest. "You ass, I didn't think someone would get ahead of me in killing Dufont." I huff dryly, parrying and ducking to dodge the assault, leg sweeping out even as the assassin lithely jumps over the kick, and I'm forced to back away in a defensive stance as his own leg impacts harshly with my bracer.

A sharp grin crosses my face. "Let's make a deal like civilised people." I smirk with bravado I don't really feel.

 _It's as I feared. He's better than me. Now to hoping he doesn't know it yet, or that he feels like humouring me._

The wrist I hold in an iron grip tugs away, perhaps more gently than I'd anticipated, and the dagger uncomfortably close to my throat retreats with it. "Oh? I'm listening." He hums with that particular accent I find all Argonians have, eyeing me shrewdly. _This is a professional killer all right. The Dark Brotherhood I've heard so much about, perchance?_

"You see, I came here tonight in the hopes that I'd be able to kill a certain someone. But, it's rude to take someone else's kill, correct?" A scaled tail sweeps impatiently and I huff. "If nobody came running at that shouting just now, they won't come running when we're talking normally." I get the smallest of nods in agreement even as Marcurio finally bumbles into the room, thankfully staying silent as the tension can be cut with my axe should I try.

"I distract and kill the lackeys and then you can send our dearest Alain to Sithis. That is, if my guess is right and you _are_ with that… curious Dark Brotherhood I've been hearing about." Now, my eyes narrow at him into a glare.

"As long as your family acknowledges and respects _father_ , we'll have no issues." Another twitch of the tail, the only muscles that move in the Argonian's otherwise stony visage. "Ahhh, a fellow son of Sithis." He muses out loud, before letting a breathy chuckle pass his lips. "I believe I can live with your idea. Lead on, _cousin._ "

I blink slowly at him, before giving him a small smile. "But of course." _Marcurio will guard my back._ I lead the odd entourage ahead to the next room, only the mage making the occasional audible shuffle thanks to his heavy winter robes. _A member of the Dark Brotherhood..! I must admit, I hadn't expected to find the only other ones still actively worshipping_ _ **Sait'iis**_ _, or Sithis, this soon._

A Dwemer, a mage, and an assassin walk into a bandit hideout… _This is a walking joke. Xrib help me._ I purse my lip as we move by a junction, and I can see three bandits, as well as a man dressed so expensively he must be Alain Dufont, sitting just ahead.

Then I see the locked gate nearby, and the ballista's on the balcony, activation levers conveniently besides them. I'm pretty sure my eyes are gleaming with mirth when I quickly take out my lock picks to open the gate, gesturing for the Dark Brotherhood member and Marcurio to stay where they are as I move upstairs.

I creep along the balcony, waving cheekily at the two men still standing in the opening below. Marcurio facepalms silently and I grin in his direction as I sit down on the edge, hands casually on both levers. I glance briefly at how they're aimed, then observe the bandits below me. "Go to the college he said! You know, that'd be a lot easier if I knew which damn college he meant!"

"You know, if you couldn't figure out that much, chances are said college wasn't going to let you in anyway." I enter the conversation cheerily, watching as the men turn to me, surprise all across their faces. _Now, let's pray these darlings are still functional._ I pull the left lever, plastering my usual bored expression on my face. "See you in the Void, sweethearts."

Inwardly, I flinch back at the sound of metal tearing into flesh, piercing ribs and bone and organs bloodily and _gods that looks disgusting he's like a human shish kebab._ The other two men are not so happy about the death of their fellow – the archer first, as is my usual tactic.

The second bow fires when I pull the handle a bit rougher than I'd have liked, this time piercing the guy who was talking about the mage college of whatever-the-shit. I let the third yell loudly and swing his Warhammer right underneath my feet, the image quite comical if not for the mangled corpses behind him even as the Argonian assassin swiftly creeps up behind Dufont, slitting his throat and I'm too busy being mesmerized by the sheer _artistic flair_ he gives the morbid act, almost forgetting about the last bandit.

I've no other words for it, this guy makes killing into an art form. Marcurio fells the last bandit with a well-aimed electric shock to the heart – tame, compared to what Mr. Brotherhood and I just did.

I hop down from the balcony with a sigh, cracking my bones. "This has to be the easiest self-appointed job we've taken on in weeks, right 'curio?" said wizard nods, eyeing the assassin warily. For his part, the Argonian is a lot more relaxed now that he's mostly finished his job. He even gives me a shallow bow with a toothy grin on his face. "That was… an unique trick, _cousin_. I'm sure that my sister, Astrid, would be most interested in meeting you. I'll ask her you can come visit our house next time you're nearby. We're almost family, after all." He eyes me shrewdly with cold, but fascinated, reptilian eyes. "Until next time."

After the trained killer has disappeared into the shadows, presumably headed back the way he came to avoid the flamethrowers, Marcurio lets out a small squeak. "Next time? Sithis? The Dark Brotherhood?" Visibly shaken for a few moments, I allow him to catch his breath and gather his wits, somewhat uneasy by his downright scared reaction.

 _ **Sait'iis**_ _is the god of death and final judgement. I'd be a fool NOT to honour something so powerful and abstractly incomprehensible._ The mage drags a tired hand down his face – a new habit, one he probably picked up from me. "Alright. Alright. I knew I signed up for inhuman amounts of crazy when I took that money, but _damnit,_ Fjaldi, I reached the limit of crazy when you threw together that weirdly good cake for dinner."

"Liberally translated they're pancakes. I told you. They're a traditional, simple recipe we copied from the Snowmer. It sounds more mysterious to you when I call it **Khanr'thl** , doesn't it?" I mutter to him, mind still reeling and glad for the change in subject.

 _If I get a visit from a trained assassin not out to kill me immediately I'd better be on my best behaviour. Can't do much else about it now._

"I didn't even get his name." Are the next words to come out of my mouth faintly, my emotions swiftly passing beyond 'fear' and 'panic' to a cold, numb, heavy feeling that has a strange sort of calm settle over me even as I stand frozen to my spot."You just – You just talked to a member of the Dark Brotherhood! How are you this calm?" Marcurio suddenly exclaims, arms waving about wildly even as I start to move, setting about emptying Dufont's pockets.

"I'm not. **Calm**. I've beyond panic gone. I think shock. It decidedly weird is." I mumble mechanically, hands shaking as I fall back into Dwemer grammar, my mind having difficulties remembering the Common Tongue I'm supposed to speak at all – _have they been shaking all this time? I hope not._

I look down at my blood-stained, trembling fingers blankly for a few beats, forgetting what I was doing until Marcurio's voice breaks through the haze. "Uhm, not to spoil your ale but you… you don't look too well. I can barely understand a word of what you're saying. Are you… okay?" _No way in Xrib's forges._ "Fine."

I rise unsteadily, filling my knapsack with the gems and other precious things the man had on him, including a heavy gold necklace set with emeralds even as I sway to and fro, the mage steadying me carefully. _His body is so nice and warm. How can people be so warm in these climates? I like it that he's so warm._ "Okay, you're clearly out of it since you're spouting nonsense. Let's get outside, get some fresh air."

Once we're outside in the freezing air, the watery sun only just peeking from over the mountaintops, my knees give out underneath me even as the entire world seems to shift back into sudden clarity. I suck in a deep breath. "Oh."

"Yes," Marcurio replies drolly, "Oh. A good morning to you too." I grab his sleeve tightly when he makes to pull away from where he'd been carrying me bridal style. "Wait. I need a moment." I take another few deep, calming breaths, relishing in the mage's warmth and _this is so the worst possible moment to find out I have, as Mellte would say, the 'hots' for this overly chatty bastard._ Even so, I force myself to gather my wits about me, before releasing my iron grip on the imperial's sleeve. "Thanks." I cough a few times, getting back on my feet with far more certainty than before.

"We're going back to Hjerim, have a drink or three, or four, and then leave for Winterhold as soon as possible?" I decide, though it sounds far more like a question as I stare at Marcurio, wondering if he'll agree to that plan. I agree to it. I need a drink to help me get over meeting an assassin and finding out I caught feelings, of all diseases.

 **A/N: This is NOT the last you'll see of Veezara, trust me, I have** _ **plans**_ **for my personal favourite faction in Skyrim. ALSO WE'VE OFFICIALLY REACHED 60K WORDS!**


	20. Overdue Relevations

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Monologues, racism, and the Blame Game.**

 **A/N: Updating this a day early! Might not be able to update next week due to personal problems, but I'll try my hardest to make it on time! Enjoy the chapter!**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _We're going back to Hjerim, have a drink or three, or four, and then leave for Winterhold as soon as possible?" I decide, though it sounds far more like a question as I stare at Marcurio, wondering if he'll agree to that plan. I agree to it. I need a drink to help me get over meeting an assassin and finding out I caught feelings, of all diseases._

Chapter 20 – Overdue revelations

Back in Windhelm, more 'good' news awaits, concerning my 'favourite' family in town, the Shatter-Shields.

Well, _favourite_ in the sense that I made a lot of Argonian friends over their sudden misfortunes. I fear I cannot _quite_ appreciate the patriarch of the family – the ass – but the matriarch is not that bad a person.

That makes the news coming out of practically nowhere somehow even more shocking. I'll admit, for a few moments there, I'm blindsided. It came out of left field. Sitting at the corner of the bar in New Gnisis cornerclub, I'm glad most of my no doubt embarrassing expression is covered by the shadows cast by flickering candlelight. There's only barred windows, not letting in traitorous sunlight, and for once I'm happier for it.

"What do you mean, 'Nilsine and Tova dead'?" I ask dully, something in my head crashing and burning even as uncomfortable sensations settle heavy in my stomach.

 _Alain Dufont._

 _The same Alain that ran off to be with a_ Shatter-Shield.

 _Who is now dead._

 _And Marcurio and I literally just had a… pleasant conversation and brief… alliance..? With the same guy whom, well, I'd guess 90 to 95% for certain killed either one or both of these women._

"That's exactly what I mean! Poor Torbjorn… First Friga is murdered by that awful Butcher you saved us from, and now? Now Nilsine was found dead. In her own house! They say…" here, Ambarys leans in, as if wanting to share with us some forbidden secret. Marcurio, grim face suddenly ten years older, stared down blankly into his cup.

Judging by the pale faces of the Dunmer around us, it is not so much a secret he wishes to share. Everyone in the room already knows.

"She was killed by _the Dark Brotherhood_. It happened just last night, while you were gone doing whatever it is sellswords do. The guards actually _stood up for you_ , you know, since you were initially one of the prime suspects in the case. Those Nords said you were with them, at the gates trying to negotiate something none of those N'wits will speak of, when it happened. Now that I mention it, they will likely seek you out to take you to the palace to confirm your story and continue whatever it was. Must be something, as there's a giant dragon skeleton outside the gates. What did you do, claim the kill?"

I nod absently, partially ignoring everything he said after hearing Nilsine was murdered by a Dark Brotherhood assassin, my face ashen.

 _What the f-_ "And Tova? She didn't deserve it. Not death, at least." I manage to croak out somewhat coherently. _Sure, she's had illegal dealings, but her husband was responsible for most of that. And losing Friga wasn't her fault, either… I even got her that Amulet of Arkay, barely two weeks ago_.

Some would claim that the proud Nord woman was a friend of mine, and I couldn't disagree with them even if I wanted to, spitting on her memory like that would be too much. The Dunmer bites his lip in unwanted sympathy, not having any positive feelings for Nords but recognising my feelings. A large, warm hand lightly squeezes my shoulder in reassurance, its owner silently contemplating. _Marcurio._ But even his warm touch can't drown out the icy cold in my gut.

"She killed herself. She-" I completely missed the rest of the sentence.

 _The assassin killed Nilsine. Tova killed herself because of this. Family is the highest good a Dwemer can have. The highest good ANYONE can have. To kill a last loving family member, for her husband sure as Oblivion held little true love for her… I can barely think of a more heinous crime._ My entire body shudders with repressed rage, and the bottle I'm holding shatters in my grip.

I don't even feel the shards as startled exclamations are uttered around me and someone hands me a rag to clean off the blood now dripping from my fingertips. My mind is almost fully consumed with but one thought for a few more tense seconds before I deflate a bit, shoulders sagging.

I want to kill that Argonian.

I know it won't matter now, and a large part of me in the recesses of my head chimes in with: ' _They deserved it, with their list of crimes'_. But still. I squeeze my hands until the knuckles turn white. "I see. Please excuse me, I think I need to speak to Torbjorn." _That man is not my friend, but Tova would have wanted me to at least give him some semblance of support._

We end up not drinking at Hjerim or in the cornerclub that day, but at the Candlehearth Inn with Torbjorn. Marcurio doesn't seem to mind, and we even, briefly, attend the funeral, taking place the very same day because of certain burial rites.

…

Exhausted beyong measure, when Marcurio and I finally stumble back into Hjerim after dusk, I resolve to completely ignore Ulfric Stormcloak sitting _in my fucking kitchen_ whilst I faintly hear Marcurio growling and snapping at the man in the background, cotton clogging my ears and thoughts and making everything seem dull. I wave my hand with a momentous amount of effort, feeling as if I'm lifting a rock the size of a man instead. "Marcurio. Sleep first."

And so we do. _Because fuck you, Ulfric Stormcloak._

…

"So what do you think you were possibly doing, breaking into my house and seating yourself at my kitchen table without permission yesterday?" I stand in front of the throne in the Palace of the Kings agitatedly, it's already late afternoon and I've eaten nothing but sweetroll treats all day. _I've had better days. Why must I deal with this crap, again?_

Marcurio is still sleeping off the hangover in bed – _the same bed I sleep in, since there's not exactly a guest room available, and wow, that did not help my all around confusion last night._ I drag a hand down my face somewhat self-consciously. "Sorry, that may not have been the best way to start off. I… had a rough few days."

 _If you can still call 'meeting an assassin, surviving the encounter with an invite to a cult, defeating a dragon, getting seen devouring its soul, then finding out a friend is dead and attending the funeral with her late husband whom you secretly can't stand' within the span of two days '_ rough _'. I believe I made what these people call 'an understatement'._

He nods stoically in understanding, but his eyes are warmer than I've ever seen them, aglow with empathy and curiosity. "I'm sorry for your loss. I'd heard you were quite close to Tova."

 _She reminded me of lady Khriani, the friend of my mothers who came to drink tea sometimes and who lost her son in an Animunculi rampage. I couldn't stand just letting her be that miserable alone._ "She was a friend."

I glare darkly at him when he continues almost without further pause or consideration, having, for his idea, finished with the formalities. _Arrogant ass._ "My guards have brought me more news of things happening within and outside these walls than just the unfortunate passing of the ladies Shatter-Shield."

 _Unfortunate passing. Tsk. I bet those who get notified of their family members dying in this stupid civil war are recipients of more courtesy than this. Or is it because I am an elf, in which case…_

I tilt my head stubbornly and cross my arms in the universal 'Bitch, try me' pose. "Is this about me being Dragonborn?" The Jarl of Windhelm folds his fingers under his chin, his heavy blue gaze, like a Skyrim glacier, fully on me.

Behind me, I can almost physically _feel_ Marcurio bristle and taking a step forwards to jump to my defence – but alas, he's not here. I am alone in this. I grit my teeth a little harder and stand my ground.

"It is. Skyrim's people are in _need,_ Dragonborn."

 _In need of stability and prosperity, aye._

"A need for freedom of the Empire's tyranny. A need to be free of a system that costs us lives each passing day. A need to be able to worship our god Talos, who was Dragonborn, as are you. These needs, I have been trying to fulfil."

 _There would not have been a problem without you, now would there be, Ulfric? Talos was worshipped in peaceful silence until you threw a hissy fit in Markarth. Oh, Ghorza told me ALL about that particular endeavour._ My eyes only narrow at the self-proclaimed true King of Skyrim as the Nord just. Keeps. Talking.

"But the Empire is like a Hagraven with her prey in her claws, and so I have not been able to turn the tides of this war for the good of Skyrim. For the good of all of us. Thus, I wish to extend you a formal invitation to my court as Thane, and to join my ranks in this fight against oppression. With your Voice and my strategies, we can win this war and bring peace to these lands, to make Skyrim free as it has been, and should always be!"

The other present members of the court roar in approval at that last proclamation. I can see now why people would be convinced to join this fraud in attempting to get the Empire out of these lands.

Standing in complete silence for a few moments, a small smile tugs playfully at the corners of my lips. But it's not a happy smile. "It's a nice speech, I must concede."

My mind races, how do I get out of this with the least major fallout? Then, unbidden, an idea comes to mind. I hate it the second it forms concrete words within my thoughts, but alas, I cannot deny its usefulness.

 _This is the perfect moment to use everything they told me about the Way of the Voice in High Hrothgar to suit my own needs… Ma would despise the lies I smith, the truths I twist to suit me best… I have changed. For the worse._

I purse my lips, mentally apologise to her and push through regardless of my personal values. _It's half-truths. And there is more than my own wants and needs on the line here._

"Much as I believe that no religion should be banned for the opinions of others…" I begin slowly, cautiously, "I have been taught that the Way of the Voice is not the way of violence. I have seen the Voice burn villages, maim and kill indiscriminately. I have heard of you, killing a child, barely a man, using the Thu'um. Even though you should have known better than to rely on what came of dragons, evil by nature."

The quiet admonishment, the implicit accusation of the murder of Torygg has those glacier cold eyes narrow in contempt, but also in thought, for he cannot fully refute my argument – he has, after all, had the same teachers as I now have.

"I apologise, but I do not wish to use this power against your enemies." _His enemy, not mine._ Having finished my own spiel, I wait for his all-too predictable reaction.

"Torygg refused to believe in a free Skyrim. He kneeled to the elves and the Empire like a coward. I fought him on fair grounds. I was forced to act in order to guarantee that Skyrim would not fall under elvish oppression."

"Nice motive, still murder." I reply in a monotone voice, icy anger creeping into my chest. "But you know what I find even odder?"

Jarl Ulfric leans back, teeth gritting and eyes turning wary and closed off, his stance tense as if ready for battle. I can't get a read on him, so I just keep going. _Is he expecting a fight? Because by now I would be down for a fight. Ending this stupid civil dispute prematurely might help Skyrim, even._

"How every Stormcloak I speak to is blaming the Empire. An easier scapegoat than the _true_ enemies of Skyrim, I'm sure." I make sure my drawling tone is tinged with faked humour, as if not really blaming the Stormcloaks for any fault of their own.

Then I spot the jackpot, lingering in the blonde Nord's expression: Interest, even as the Nord has to sternly tell his friend Galmar to back down and not attack me without being ordered to do so by him.

"Who are they then, in your eyes? Who have you identified as Skyrim's true enemies, if not the cowardly Empire?"

 _He's willing to hear me out? I'm impressed. Would have thought I'd be thrown out the second I jumped out of that box he'd already put me in._

"I've travelled across Skyrim for a few months now, as an outsider to your every custom, language, and conflict. I like to believe that the point of view of an observer is less clouded than one of someone personally involved… And I must admit that I don't like what I see."

Here, I'm tempted, _oh so tempted_ , to go off on a tangent about the prevalent racism, about the Argonians being locked outside the walls, referred to as 'boots', of the Khajit being banned from every village and city, discriminated against and being driven to become that which they have always been accused of being.

Of the way mages are disapproved of, merely because their talents lie elsewhere, and how they are shunned by more traditional Nords. Of the countless bandits, thieves and beggars I've seen that show clear signals that the way _everything_ here in Skyrim works is woefully inadequate when it comes to personal rights that were actually already present and enforced thousands of years ago. I bite my lip harshly.

 _No, stick to what you decided._

"Is it not the _Aldmeri Dominion_ , who makes the Kings kneel? That banned the worship of Talos because they could not, in their overconfidence of their own superiority, deal with his origins? Are it not the _Thalmor_ , patrolling the lands of Skyrim, that drag people off in the middle of the night? Who hold the Empire like a puppeteer holds the strings?" I end, sneering at him.

I didn't even mean to say that much. Perhaps we're all just in a mood for monologues on this disastrous Fridas. Perhaps I'm honestly curious and I'm rambling because I expect an actual answer.

"So tell me then, Ulfric Stormcloak." I demand, raising my voice, letting the Thu'um rattle the bones of the humans in the court.

 _I'd better run off and get to packing as soon as possible, drag Marcurio out of bed, and get out of this city before noon._ "Why is it that you choose the easy way out? I thought Nords were supposed to be _honourable_." I give the man draped in expensive furs a saccharine smile.

 _Even if I went too far… No, I spy no regret within myself. A real Dwemer scholar questions everything. And a Dwemer with honour gives the right answers and fights for them. Da and Ma, and Uncle and Mellte too would be proud of this. In the end, knowing that is enough not to regret it._

 _(_ Even though I lied about how I view the Way of the Voice and many, many other things.)

The thoughts brings a sad smile onto my face. "I only ask you think about it." I say almost gently, carefully, in a tone meant to ease Ulfric's ruffled feathers. Then, leaving the silent court behind without waiting for an answer, I walk out the doors at a swift pace. I'm not stopped by the guards as I make a beeline straight for Hjerim, as fast as common courtesy allows.

When I reach the bedroom to wake Marcurio, I hesitate. _He's still sleeping. I… I kind of really want to go back to bed, too. I'm still exhausted from yesterday and it's not good to travel the roads when not in my best condition._

Making the feeble excuse for my current actions, I take my armour off from where I'd been too tired to do so yesterday. Crawling under the covers in a plain red tunic, I find myself soon drifting back off again, the bad lighting in the house certainly helping with that.

 _The world can wait until tomorrow._

…

" _ **But how? How did you do it?**_ _" When I open my eyes again, I'm not in my 'usual' place, locked up tightly in chains. In fact, I'm free to walk around the Dwemer room, the looking glass that now shows the cloudy and fuzzy front of Hjerim the first to catch my eye._

 _Whoever this Dwemer scholar is, he can follow me around with this contraption, and I certainly don't like it. I look around the room more carefully, staying clear of the gaping ravine on the sides of the platform as I take a few careful steps towards the large table in the centre, where the scholar usually works._

" _ **He could not have shared his knowledge? Could not have prevented what has yet to pass?**_ _" The table, made out of gold and Dwemer metals entirely, is filled to the brim with notes, quills, charcoal, paper, several heavy tomes and weird contraptions that, for the life of me, I cannot place._

 _They look vaguely like… spheres. Made out of separate, interlocking circles with tiny gems embedded into them. A little like gyros. A little like… Ugh, the memory, it's right there at the tip of my tongue! Why can't I place them? I've seen_

 _something similar before…_

" _ **Perhaps he did not know? But then, why do it? An… unintentional shift? No, I'm missing something…**_ _"_

 _Now, the scholar turns the corner, and I freeze in my tracks when he pulls a lever on the side of a door that I've never noticed before. A walkway, with the sounds of stuttering and metal sliding past metal, like the Great Lifts, extends towards the platform._

 _But the Dwemer does not see me with his eerie, luminescent eyes. He walks towards the table, and I step aside quickly. "_ _ **Something powered it. Something vast. A source of magic, like the Eye the humans stole? No, No, the Eye only warps Space. Space and Time… Time… Time…**_ _"_

 _His voice seems to warp and echo throughout the room as the world around me fades, distorts, the walls shifting and collapsing and folding – for a few moments, I'm too dizzy, confused and nauseous to react to the new scenery. "_ _ **You miserable wyrm! You WILL tell me! You WILL!**_ _" The heavy robes flare around the small figure, a larger-than-life shadow looming over it even as green and blue lights flood my vision._

 _The deep red eyes in the shadows look up from the Dwemer scholar, up, and straight into my own. My heart skips several beats and I stop breathing in sheer terror – this vision is becoming far too real._

 _Far too much._

 _I cannot wrap my mind around this – it – the shadow and the place. Then, just as the panic truly sets in, a rumble echoes through what sounds like a cathedral or another enormous space, a rumble so deep and powerful my teeth clatter and my body vibrates with the force of it, settling deep in my very bones. "_ _I AM VULTHURYOL._ _"_

I wake up shaking violently, in a cold sweat, staring at the blackish ceiling above my head with those red, red eyes seared onto my retinas. "Vulthuryol…" I breathe into the darkness. _That's the same dragon who needed my help. The one living in the Deep…_

Deep, somewhere underground. Like, a large cavern system. I let out a shocked exhale, sitting up and pushing aside the lingering aches and pains from the previous days as previously disconnected puzzle pieces fall seamlessly into place in my head.

I know where to find him.

 **Fal Zhardum Din.**

As soon as the revelation fully computes I let myself drop back onto the straw mattress with a disappointed, frustrated groan, burying my face in my hands and ignoring the sleep-addled, inquiring mumbles from Marcurio.

 _Fuck._

 _I don't have a key._

 _Where in Oblivion am I supposed to find one of the three only entrance keys in existence? They will never have been left behind where anyone can get to them. Most likely in the sealed off parts of the ruins connected to_ _ **Fal Zhardum Din.**_

…

… _What do I do now?_

 **A/N: Yeah, I'll admit I've got a LOT going on in this chapter! How do you feel about Ulfric's speech and reactions? It will play an important part later on, and I'd put Fjaldi's 'Speech skill' at about 50 for now. And yes. Remaining in Hjerim is stupid. We'll see how that turns out next time. And another dream sequence! Hope you find it interesting! I'd be more than happy to hear your opinions!**


	21. Raldbthar

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): None**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _Then I let myself drop back onto the straw mattress with a groan, burying my face in my hands and ignoring the sleep-addled mumbles from Marcurio. Fuck. I don't have a key. Where in Oblivion am I supposed to find one of the three only entrance keys in existence? …What do I do now?_

Chapter 21 - Raldbthar

" _Stop interrupting me!_ "

I shut my mouth from where it was forming yet another retort to one very, very angry mage.

"As I was saying before you so graciously interfered -" He hisses snidely, sparks dancing across his fingertips and his right eye twitching sporadically, "- remember for any future reference that I do NOT appreciate a guard standing over me first thing in the morning! What in Oblivion did you DO to get us _chased out of the city_ at the ass-crack of dawn?"

A deep breath.

"We're _banned_ from Windhelm, Fjaldi. Banned! For a _month_! The ale will have gone bad by the time we're allowed back!"

The mage pauses for a few precious seconds in abject horror at the sheer thought of the stock of ale in our kitchen cabinets going rancid, allowing my poor, abused ears to get a break from listening to the ranting.

Alas. _I highly doubt he's done yet._

"Fjaldi, what kind of stunt – ugh. Nevermind. I don't think I _want_ to hear it! I suppose I'll just have to be glad we're allowed back in later. On to another subject, then, or I'll just give in to the urge to roast you over an open fire. What could you _possibly_ want to check in a several thousand year old ruin?"

"Oh, not much," I shrug, already moving up the steps to said ruin, trying and failing to block out the stench of death that now hangs heavily in the area. _Ugh._

A few snowy foxes scurry off between my feet, having been feasting on a bandit cadaver, and I suddenly find myself fervidly hoping nothing more… violate has come to see where the smell is coming from.

"We're only going to look and see if we can get entry to Fal Zhardum Din using a key that is most likely not even in the accessible parts of the city." I explain absently, dodging a pool of partially died, darkly gleaming blood spread across the stone as we quickly descend deeper into the dark tomb, my leather boots soundlessly tapping against the ancient, worn stone that speaks of the years upon years of my people's pride, their tonal architecture, being abandoned and left to decay.

Marcurio's scowl is burning a hole in my back even as we pass Alain Dufont's stinking, worthless corpse, heading further without much pause or regard for the bastard or his companions. The dismantled Animunculi lying about strike a chord in me, but I push down the discomfort and the memories of my mother and focus on the pride that some of my people's works are still guarding these halls.

 _It has been a long time, a very long one, since they had any reason to. Unless, of course, they are keeping Falmer from overrunning the surface._

"Yes, many parts of these places are buried in rubble by now…" The mage sighs, mournful at the thought of old secrets being forever buried and out of his ever-curious reach, eyeing the Animunculi and steam pipe mechanisms absently.

"I suppose it would be more fascinating to study these machines if they didn't make a habit of trying to kill me all the time."

"If they're trying to kill you, they're still doing their jobs right." Comes my acrid reply, as I artfully ignore the affronted 'Hey!' that follows, predictably, immediately. I roll my eyes, looking around to see any signs of – _ah._

"Either way, I wasn't talking about the collapsed parts. You see this wall?" I gesture to the – at first sight – plain grey structure, framed by two golden pillars on either side, as most of the sections in this part of the ruin are.

"Yes. A wall. Such a fascinating concept." The Imperial nods drolly, decidedly unimpressed by my seemingly random observation.

I run my finger along a near-invisible line, where a few bits of stone have broken off. A perfectly straight line, and in the cracks faint patterns can be distinguished, the smallest gleam of Dwemer metal greeting my eyes. To the untrained eye, like Marcurio, it's just another crack in the wall.

But Dwemer architecture doesn't allow for something as asinine as that. Either the walls collapse at least partially, or they are not affected by much wear at all. Such is the nature of tonal architecture as far as I was taught.

It may have only been a few lessons to get young children interested in the art, but it hadn't much peaked my interest back then. Now, I'm glad to have retained at least some of the information we were given.

The fact that the graceful, straight doors, working steam pipes, traps, and breathtakingly well-crafted decorations are all still in place, oozing a sense of gold-and-grey familiarity that still resonates deep inside me, can attest to that. If these cities weren't built to last, they'd have fallen apart centuries ago.

"It's a hidden doorway." I start in a low voice, frowning as I scratch at it with my fingers, as if to pull the mechanism loose.

"It is locked by the defence system only accessible from the inside. It's meant to protect residents from invaders, leaving a few places open to make the enemy think they've found all there is to be found. Behind the defence are the living quarters for other Dwemer than just the guards or the odd noble family that invites non-Dwemer visitors – and also amenities like bathhouses, schools, forges, and so on…"

I trail off dismally, engulfed by the memories of old times flashing through my eyes – _the emergency drills, how my mom would joke and laugh but how the worry flashed every time a Dwemer neared the mechanisms at more than a walking pace, how we had to go home and stay there until being called, how the Falmer were purposefully left out of these drills, how…_

I shake my head as if to shake the images from my mind.

"Don't tell me no human or other Mer has ever questioned the lack of building stations for a race renown for creating and developing technology and weapons beyond their time..?" I add after tearing my gaze from the hidden doorway, partially curious about the answer but mainly incredulous at how it seems even Marcurio is blindsided by the question.

 _Then again – who has really explored these cities without losing their lives to my people's powerful defensive mechanisms?_

It's a waste, at least a dozen homes lie beyond this too-solid wall, and they'll likely not be uncovered for _another_ three thousand years, if this tiny crack is all that shows the doorway for now.

It also serves to give me some very uncomfortable, or well… _Haunting_ information on my people's fates.

Something I rather wish I didn't have to realise, but – _Whatever happened to my people, they had the time to activate their defence system. But, if they're all gone even though this place is locked tight… where DID they go? There's no way anyone could have left the Raldbthar living quarters like this._

… _They couldn't just have up and vanished, right? The history books must have been wrong on that, right? The only thing that would have the power to do that is…_

 _Is…_

 _Gods?_

 _No, it can't be. What did my… Alright, but even if a researcher or two went against them, does that justify possibly ex-exterminating all…_

 _Even innocent children?_

 _The gods are not that cruel, are they?_

 _And if the threat came from within… Oblivion, whatever happened, they must've all been terrified._ The thought makes me a little ill, and I grit my teeth together before dropping my hand as if the stone itself has dared to burn me.

"We'll have to see how far we can -" The sounds of spells charging have me turn swiftly, and my eyes widen even as I let go of my axes when I see Marcurio in a vehement fight with no less than three Dwemer spiders. Horror crawls onto my face when the mage showers the Animunculi – _mom, my mom's masterpieces_ \- in a barrage of ice.

"Marcurio, STOP!," I cry out, aghast. Swiftly, once the wizard drops his hands in surprise at the raw emotion in my voice, I jump in between him and the Animunculi.

" **I wish you no harm. Please, don't attack my friend and I! We only come to seek knowledge!** " I call to the spiders, even as my companion reluctantly stops charging his spells altogether, when the intelligent machines seemingly freeze in mid-air at the consonant-rich words of my mother tongue.

Similar to the spheres in Nchuand-Zel, they all seem overjoyed at hearing me, if more wary. It leaves a sour taste since they aren't supposed to be wary of any Dwemer – _were they without purpose this long? Were they betrayed? –_ but I smile fondly as their manacles click together merrily and they scurry up to me with varying indications of glee.

Like dogs seeing their owner come home from work.

A faint, fond smile still on my face I turn to tell Marcurio not to fly off the handle or into the attack so quickly the next time we come across any surviving Animunculi, but…

My companion is gobsmacked.

Shocked.

Floored.

Flummoxed, whatever one wishes to call it, as he stares uncomprehendingly at what he only ever knew as ruthless killing machines.

A long silence reigns, and suddenly, I find myself a little nervous.

 _What's he going to do? How will he react?_

…

"So… You weren't kidding after all, when you said you were a Dwemer. An expert is one thing. Only a Dwemer could get…" he gestures at the spiders, looking rather faint, but also overcome with a quickly mounting excitement that has me swallow thickly in apprehension. I can already almost physically _feel_ the questions brimming beneath the surface of Marcurio's somewhat calm façade.

"Aye."

A stupid response, and I want to hit myself for it. But now is not the time.

"You know… I've heard there's actually a living Dwemer in Morrowind."

Slowly, painstakingly slow, I turn around to face him. The hope swelling in my heart is acutely painful, like a dagger stabbing into the muscle, and I draw in a shaky, disbelieving breath.

"Say what?" I breathe, not daring to think, trying in vain to swallow that hope because I'll only be disappointed and I'm -

 _I'm… not the only one?_

 _But rumours of a living Dwemer wouldn't have gotten here in these past few months or I'd have heard…_

He nods, a deep frown on his face, the likes of which I've only ever seen when the man is putting every last scrap of his bright mind to work.

"He… suffers from Corpus disease, or at least he's been with the Telvanni family for many years now, from before the Nerevarine ever even went there and, well… But. He's alive."

The hope bubbling up in my chest like a pus-oozing tumour dies a quick death and I let out the shuddering breath I'd been holding.

 _Corpus?_

"Corpus? You wouldn't be talking about the **Damnation of Sait'iis,** are you? The fate worse than Death?" I wave him away before he can answer, or inquire as to the illness I mentioned. The Spiders are still sitting there, watching my every twitch and waiting for orders after millennia without any. _Corpus? Corpus disease? That's what the Dunmer called it, right? Shit. Shit. Shit. I want to see him. I want to verify it. I HAVE to verify it. But – But with this gods damned Dragonborn business and, ugh, I can't go to Morrowind now, not with all of these problems still apparently needing my solving. Perhaps not in a year._

 _It's…_

 _It's best to put it aside for now._

"Nevermind it, then. I do not think I would ever want to meet him. The disease is highly dangerous and contagious. Pretty sure it was an epidemic at some point in Dwemer history. The pictures… weren't pretty. I don't want to refresh the memories of my people by tainting them with… that."

 _Well, it's as good an excuse as any._

I think about my mother, hair dark as ebony, laugh lines on her face, framing a pair of brilliant green eyes… _Or were they blue? Mellte had blue eyes, but Uncle had – uncle had…_

I purse my lips, any semblance of a good mood, little as I had, vanishing into thin, dusty air. " **Are there enemies ahead?** " Yes. " **You will help my friend and I get past them?** " another affirmative, and I give them a feeble smile. "Let's not wait too long, then. I'm liking this place less every passing second."

We pass by several traps and a repairing station for the Animunculi that were supposed to be guarding the entrance but got destroyed by the bandits. The Deep Market, which I only recognise as such because of the numerous Dwemeris runes along the doors, is a Falmer-infested hellhole.

…

We lose all the spiders before we can get past several more pressure-plate activated traps, and once more Animunculi have jumped to life and have been talked down from attacking Marcurio for invading the city, though they won't follow, we take a precious breather.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to push on? This idea of yours seems to be getting worse and worse every moment. Also, how's your shoulder?"

"Arrows can't pierce these scales. It will be a giant bruise by tomorrow, though. Your leg doing any better?"

"Well, thank you for asking. The only thing I thought you'd be interested in is whether or not I can still walk."

 _I actually consider you one of my best friends, you idiot. Don't underestimate the value of me jumping to your defence before thinking of my own safety._ I want to snap. I settle for chuckling mirthlessly.

"I can make you wait here, **asshole.** "

"Don't snub me in other languages, bastard. Also, I'm far too impatient to sit here and wait while you go and have all the fun."

"With your input so far, what difference does sitting around make for you compared to coming with me?"

He huffs without venom. "You're dead."

"Weird how I'm still breathing then." I quip in return, knocking back the last of my stamina potion with a grimace at the taste. The double doors just ahead would look inviting under any other circumstance. I give the mage a warning glance. "I trust you to know your physical limits and adhere to them, unlike some Nords I've met. Don't be afraid to fall back when you're hurt, as long as you warn me. Now… Follow me."

It has become a bit of an inside joke between us. 'Follow me', and anything related to Skeevers. It helps to lift the mood at least, if only marginally.

The Animunculi stick to their own areas, not willing to abandon their posts for me or Marcurio, but they do not attack us either, and I'll admit it's a welcome reprieve from the large amounts of hostile Falmer.

"I found this weird crystal. Can I keep it?"

"…I have no idea what that is, either. As long as you don't lose it in case we need it later."

"A useless trinket, then. You know… I might just sell it."

"Sell it, I dare you. I'll smother you in your sleep. It may be an important artefact. My culture is ripe with highly advanced magical artefacts, so I might just not have heard of it."

"Okay, okay! Fine. I'll keep it as a souvenir, then. In a nice case with a painting of us in front of Raldbthar and a shiny plaque. 'Our first Dwemer ruin', I'm sure it'll look lovely."

I snicker softly. The jabs lightening the dark mood that prevails in the Falmer-infested ruin. In the back of my mind, something nags – I feel that the stone is important… somehow. Meh. _Not important enough._

"It matches the other one I found. I kept that one too, it's right here, actually." He holds up the two crystals – and he's right. It's a perfect match, in fact.

 _Okay, so maybe a little important once we find out what the things are actually for._ But not our top priority. This dungeon may take a while yet.

Needless to say, with how annoyingly difficult the Falmer are, I let out a whoop of joy when the fully functional Dwemer Centurion joins our little team for a short while. He takes a little more convincing not to attack Marcurio than the spheres, and a few times in our 'conversation' using the Calling I'm forced to show him images of the Falmer, Marcurio helping me, and the likes – it works, though it sets us back a little, time-wise.

Marcurio, for his part, is about as enthused as I am, if more subdued in his reaction and more out of scientific interest than any feeling of safety.

I'm almost tempted to let my guard down – but even the strongest Centurion can't keep every arrow from reaching me. Luckily, we don't find more Falmer, only more Animunculi, as we proceed. The Centurion eventually backs away to return to his station.

"This has to be the easiest dungeon delving we've done in weeks." Marcurio chuckles as we reach the last chamber, and I agree easily enough – _Nordic ruins aren't exactly the type to hold possible allies. They were built during and after the Aetherium Age, after all. And men and Mer never did like each other very much._

The mechanism in the centre of the room is the one that opens the gates to Fal Zhardum Din… provided one has the key. Which, on our whole way here, I'd been looking for and hadn't seen heads or tails off.

Not that I know exactly what it is I'm supposed to be looking for – but the mechanism at least gives me clues on how the key – a sphere, definitely, is meant to appear. "We're looking for a spherical object, likely made out of Dwemer metal, about this big." I tell my human companion, but even a thorough search of the room reveals nothing.

"Why do you need it?"

I sigh, standing over the mechanism and committing the scene to memory. "Later." For now, we have to find a way out of here that preferably does NOT take us past all those corpses and stinking Chaurus nests again. At least our search had me recognise some other useful contraption.

The Lift should still be in working condition. Or at least I pray it does. I eye the new pieces of treasure I'd gathered along the way, getting unwanted comments from Marcurio every time I emptied another chest. _Something will need to guard all that treasure… And it will keep out other intruders, like, say, a lost guard._

"Fjaldi no." the mage warns me, seeing the glint in my gaze as he observes my interactions with the mechanisms around me, leaning against the wall. I give him a large grin. "Fjaldi _yes._ " I turn to the last two spiders, that had followed us to the final chamber of the dungeon.

" **Whilst the rest of your fellows are obviously going to stay in here, how do you feel about watching this treasure while I keep it in the lift? I'm not sure it won't break down while I'm going up and it's a waste to leave it here, but I cannot take it elsewhere just yet.** "

When the lift comes to life, shakily and creaking, the other Animunculi, aside from the silent Centurion, disperse before they're even fully out of sight. Inside the lift, there's me, Marcurio, a heap of treasure, and two Dwemer Spiders. "I'm pretty sure they'll be docile unless they feel I'm threatened." I explain to Marcurio, almost yelling over the sounds of the mechanisms around us croaking back to life with much protest.

"That may be, but have you thought about how their joints will freeze before we're even in the snow?" I hadn't, but I'm not telling him that. " _It's… good strength training, if necessary._ " The Calling makes it so much easier to talk whenever we need silence, or in this case, when we need to overpower the noise.

I can see him shake his head. I try to use the ability as little as possible, both so as to avoid a headache and to avoid startling Marcurio – which technically means I'm just avoiding the headache either way.

…

I use the newfound coin to pay for new high-fat rations for the cold road ahead from a conveniently nearby Khajit caravan. Luckily for us we thought ahead, as the road to Winterhold proves, if not only downright freezing, fraught with danger.

By the time we get to the shoddy remains of what once was a large city and seat our frozen butts near the fires of the inn, we're both quiet and miserable, nursing warm drinks and rubbing feeling back into our fingers even as my meagre supply of health potions is downed like the red concoctions are going out of style.

Three dragons and a fort of angry mages will do that to a man. And a Dwemer, for that matter. "Marcurio."

"Yes?"

"As your employer I order you to learn some basic restoration magic whilst I try and find out what the library at the college can mean for me." He groans and rubs the bridge of his nose, taking a large gulp of his drink. "Why don't _you_ learn it?"

This is the moment where a lesser Dwemer would have started sweating bullets and folded like a wet piece of paper. I manage to get by with just sheepishly rubbing the back of my head.

"Trust me, I've tried. I only know one spell, flames. But… It's barely enough to light a twig, let alone to 'roast my foes in arcane fire'. Magic isn't for me. Give me an axe over a staff any day. Most Dwemer had very little interest or inclination for the magical arts and I'm no exception to that rule."

He laughs at me, but it's more playful than anything as he nudges my ribs with his elbow. "Now there I sense a story I just _have_ to hear." The night falls fast, and we eventually move to one of the tables to eat even as we speak in hushed voices, occasionally sniggering or exclaiming about one thing or the other – though the only topic we really discuss is my appalling lack of magical aptitude, before I decide enough is enough and we rent two separate rooms for the night. The innkeeper seems to be glad for any business at all, elf or not, mage or not.

It's… refreshing.

 _It shouldn't have to be._

 **A/N: And I MADE IT JUST IN TIME. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and do tell me what you thought, reviews make my day I swear! See you next time!**


	22. Winterhold College

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Is it J'Zargo or J'zargo? I don't know! Also, we're jumping into the middle of a Questline because every issue starting when the Dragonborn shows up is too convenient for the rest of Skyrim.**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _Trust me, I've tried. I only know one spell, flames. But… It's barely enough to light a twig, let alone to 'roast my foes in arcane fire'. Magic isn't for me. Give me an axe over a staff any day."_

 _The innkeeper seems to be glad for any business at all, elf or not, mage or not. It's… refreshing. It shouldn't have to be._

Chapter 22 – Winterhold College

"And just who, exactly, might you two be? The college isn't accepting any applicants right now, so get out of here."

I exchange a glance with Marcurio and shrug. " _You don't know it until you try it._ " I Call, the corner of my lips curls upwards as he startles slightly before being able to mask it with the feigned indifferent mask he'd had plastered on since early this morning.

 _Do magical colleges have problems with each other_? Also, Marcurio is terrible at pretending cold indifference – his eyes and the way his left index finger keeps twitching are enough of a giveaway for me. We'd been running around for two months with barely any company aside from each other, after all.

 _A general insight into how he tics should be expected by now – I wonder if other people are capable of noticing his twitches as well as I can, or if he notices how I react when trying to cover something. It bears asking._ I muse before turning back to the conversation.

"Actually, I am not here to apply. I have zero magical aptitude, inborn abilities notwithstanding." I tell the Altmer cheerily, putting on a happy-go-lucky smile to look even more like an innocent brat. "But, you see, I do have a curious streak a mile wide, and thus I was only hoping to have short access to your library."

A pause.

"I'm… rather deeply involved with the current dragon issue. Not of my own volition, if I may, but a guy has to do what they have to when it's apparently somewhat important, you know?"

Marcurio swats me on the back of my head and I grumble in fake protest, jabbing him in the ribs in return with a small grin playing on my face – nevermind that the jab didn't even hurt. I rub the place where he hit me with a faux-annoyed huff, glaring at the mage's pretty brown eyes maybe a second too long before staring at his faded yellow collar instead.

"You can just _tell_ them you're the Dragonborn. They're not going to kill you for it. The College of Winterhold has always been a largely independent organisation that stays out of such affairs." He lectures me imperially – _hah, pun unintended._

I roll my eyes dramatically, and the Altmer mage still standing in front of us looks like she isn't sure what to do or how to react anymore.

 _Good._

"So if you could let us in?" I suggest mildly, and she snaps back to herself. "Well I, uh, well, I suppose I could let you through… Provided you prove your status. And your friend will have to gain access the traditional way." She then goes to explain that we're both supposed to attack some sort of sign with an eye on it, which is carved into the floor.

Well, Marcurio attacks it with the Firebolt spell the woman suggests.

I would cry and throw a tantrum like a toddler to get my hands close to _more fire and blessed warmth_ right now, but I'm scared my tears will turn to icicles in this weather. Also, being coldly miserable, I'm not feeling up to being too impressive, so with a simple "FUS!" I gain entry.

…

I'd expected a magical college to be less… panicked. _I knew the feeling I had to come here wasn't misplaced._ Mages are standing in what seems to be a main square, overgrown with snowberries and other weeds, and they're all arguing.

Not that I'm about to jump in head first, oh no. I'm gathering my bearings, first of all. After all, I'm still clutching valiantly at the nearest sturdy stone pillar of support with an ashen face because crossing _that sorry, miserable,_ _ **Tschranumnd eiglurch**_ _excuse of a bridge just..! It's not even worthy of being called a bridge! Bridge, hah! A level 12 out of 10 safety hazard, more like!_

 _A College of Magic, indeed. It MUST be held together by magic, because otherwise that 'bridge' would be several hundred metres lower! On the SEA FLOOR! How do these damn people deal with it?_

I force myself to refocus on the ongoing chaos – two younger mages, a Khajit and what looks to be a Nord at first glance – seem to be standing against what appears to be the entire faculty, if their stern, disapproving looks are the same as the ones my teachers used to give me.

 _ **Ah, Ms. Dwegsh, you will not be missed. Bitch.**_

Marcurio stands behind me nonchalantly, arms crossed and eyebrows up to his hairline. He clicks his tongue, apparently finding not even his most sarcastic comments worthy of this chaos. Giving him a long-suffering look, because I can already tell I'm not going to be able to stay out of this, I tune in to the ongoing conversation.

"You two are wholly unprepared for an undertaking of this size! I understand that you want to fix this problem before it runs even further out of hand, but we've already contacted someone outside the college to aid us!" The woman… either a Breton or a Redguard, I can't really tell, then spots the two of us. "See? They're already here!"

Marcurio and I, meanwhile, are stuck gaping at her like fish. _Excuse me, but what in Oblivion?_ I tilt my head to my companion slightly, whispering under my breath so as not to offend the angry mages: "Did we agree to help this Mage College? When did we get _that_ drunk, again?"

"I'm pretty sure we haven't been drunk enough for something of that magnitude in the past few weeks. You won't let me get drunk, remember?" He whispers back, and now I turn to him fully, disregarding the mages and letting out a disbelieving snort.

"You – The last and only time I let _you_ get drunk you froze me. _To the ceiling._ I had frostbitten toes for _days!_ " He holds his hands up in mock-surrender. 'Fair enough', he mouths silently, eyes somewhere just over my shoulder. I stand a little straighter. Then, I slowly turn around, giving the Breton – I'm pretty sure, at least – a dull glare.

 _Alright, I'll play along for now, see where I end up._

"Aye, what is it?"

"You… Are not the same as the mercenaries I hired?" Now, I must admit that I've been curious. About this college in general, as well as the overall size of the library, sure. But with this chaos, and the talk of hiring help to deal with what sound like severe problems?

I need answers, and I need them fast.

"We're not. At least, we're not helping unless we have some more details on the situation." _Does it have anything to do with the dragons?_ I narrow my eyes, because ugh, I should hope not. I have enough dragon problems as it stands.

She, Mirabelle Ervine, Master wizard of the College of Winterhold, goes on to explain a strange orb they found under Saarthal, exuding magic, which Tolfdir, another mage teacher, brought in for further examination.

Without first doing research on the nature of the artefact and its possible origins, or the extend of its power, or in which manner it might be used or abused. Highly professional. _A Dwemer Scholar would have been executed. Just goes to show how far standards for education have dropped – not that I've seen ANY school suitable for small children to learn the basics of anything since I arrived here in Skyrim, which is sad in itself, really._

Now, the orb had been obtained with the best of intentions, but they needed a Staff of Magnus to avoid someone abusing it.

And nobody knew – of _course_ – where to find said staff. The two students who have been joining up to work on the 'project' after helping Tolfdir find the orb, want to go find out where it's located.

"Some Imperials from the Synod came by and asked after it, as well. Their secondary plan was to go to a Dwemer ruin called 'Mzulft'. Now, these two idiot apprentices," Mirabelle almost growls, gesturing with a wide sweep of her arm at the two now sheepish looking boys, "want to go there, as well. But it's far too dangerous to send mere apprentices out there on their own."

 _Hold on, on their own?_ So, the lady is planning to send them off towards certain death and doom by Dwemer traps and Falmer shenanigans with nothing but a few hired swords to help? My eyes narrow even further at her and I push my shoulders back, assuming a more serious stance and crossing my arms for further effect.

Marcurio, still loyally behind me, just groans and mumbles 'here we go again' under his breath. _Hah, you like it though. My people's architectural and technological advancements fascinate you even though they want to murder you._

"My apologies, Lady Ervine, for not introducing myself earlier – I am Fjaldi dû Bthardamz. Master Enchanter, expert on Dwemer and currently, willing to help you out in return for access to whatever constitutes as a library in this College." I even add a shallow, if mischievous, bow at the end. An elegant eyebrow arches – wow, Marcurio could take lessons from this woman – and she mirrors my stance.

"Bring my students back safely, and then we'll talk about you gaining access to the Arcanum." I give her a razor-sharp smirk. _She lets me walk out with her students without payment so that I will work harder to get it when I return, like dangling a shiny new ebony sword in front of a warrior. Smart. But also stupid. I have every right to refuse, after all she needs me more than I need her. That said…_

"Deal."

With that, even the snowstorm raging through the courtyard seems to abate as the master Wizard tilts her head once more, in a nod towards me, before turning sharply on her heel and walking off, the rhythmic thumps of her shoes crunching the snow the only sound for a few long moments.

Then, Marcurio's voice echoes around the nearly emptied courtyard: "Why am I even surprised at this point?"

"Because you still don't understand how far I will go to get what I want."

 _As long as it isn't related to having you._ I smile back at him innocuously. The two college apprentices walk up to us, the Khajit lazily trailing after the Nord, tail sweeping gently to and fro, and I'm hard-pressed not to applaud the two for the mutual show of trust, however insignificant, in a world where it's so hard to come by between races.

"Uhm, hello! My name is Onmund, I study here at the college and -"

"J'Zargo thinks the travellers know you study here." The cat interrupts with a sharp nod in our direction, ears twitching warily and I find my own ears, the traitors, curiously moving in response, ever so slightly as they don't move to the extent that cat ears do, but unfortunately, enough to peek from underneath my hair. I'd let all of it loose to cover my poor blue-tipped ears from freezing off.

Of course, the eyes sharp enough to spot a bug ten feet away on a new moon night notice. "This one is J'Zargo. If it's not too much to ask, can this one ask why an elf and an Imperial mage interfered before J'Zargo and his friend were singed painfully?"

Onmund now gives me a closer inspection, eyes widening in surprise and I sigh slightly. "You also do not smell like a human, or even a normal elf, now that this one pays more attention to it. J'zargo's poor nose has been stuffed because of the cold for a long time." He seems… alright. If shady. I'm watching my back, that's for sure.

In contrast, Onmund seems like your typical village Nord with a background in farming. I'm glad to see that not all stereotypes fit in every case, and the boy seems to have no aversion against magic or magic users – quite the opposite, in fact.

"Mzulft will not be easy to get through. The Dwemer there were notorious for their trap making."

 _I jested with Mellte about it often – said that he should consider moving there to train under a master of traps that appreciated his sadistic streak. Of course, we both knew Ma wasn't going to let him go once she got her hands on him._

A feeble smile briefly plays on my lips before I can wipe it away. "Marcurio and I are ready to go whenever you are." The two exchange glances before nodding at us in unison, Onmund with a small bow and J'Zargo with a Cheshire grin. "We'll get our bags right away."

Bags and staffs, apparently. I'm no expert on the long staves with fancy Nordic engravings and gemstones, but Marcurio easily identifies them. "A Staff of Firebolts and a Staff of Paralysis. Not bad."

The Khajit bows dramatically, twirling the staff that can fling balls of fires around merrily. I scoot away slightly when it lets out actual wisps of smoke. Onmund just stands off to the side, glowing proudly at the minor praise.

 _Maybe he knows that Marcurio's 'not bad' is the weird equivalent of 'pretty damn impressive'? Nah._

I take the lead of the small group of mages, now feeling severely outnumbered in terms of enjoying to split skulls with a _normal_ weapon rather than 'roasting foes in bouts of arcane fires', like J'Zargo seems to enjoy even more than Marcurio.

Onmund, contrarily, is like a humanoid sweetroll.

To the point where even I'm blindsided by it, and I've been around enough **Dwemerlings** to know what 'sweet' is. I blink at him a few times when he offers me his overcoat because I ' _looked kind of cold'_.

Marcurio meets my eyes, his deep brown gaze reflecting exactly what I'm feeling at that very moment – _We must protect the Innocent One at all costs._ J'zargo also clearly agrees, we find out not much later, when the Khajit comes suspiciously close to _herding_ the Nord aside before jamming an Ice Spike up a wolf's… behind when it tries to attack the blonde.

Marcurio, with a generally perverted sense of humour that gets to me far more than I want to ever admit – _A secret to take to the grave –_ is adorably and predictably awkward, holding back and sometimes cutting himself off suspiciously abruptly in the middle of a sarcastic tirade.

The glares J'Zargo gives him whenever he's out of line seem to not have any effect whatsoever, but Onmund's shocked, sad, kicked puppy look?

 _Oh my, oh my._

…

When once more passing Windhelm, I quickly sneak into the city in a heavy cloak that covers all my features to stock up on potions from one of several barrels inside Hjerim's secret room. Two out of three mages visit the alchemist in the meantime, Marcurio waiting outside the gates.

If either of the two apprentices are wondering, they don't ask.

I briefly glance around the mess that is the room-hidden-behind-a-wardrobe, you can't even take a step before breaking your ankle over some gold ingot. ' _Damn, tomb-delving makes a guy richer than the king'_ and ' _I am so getting cursed by some ancient evil over taking a piece of rock from its grave_ ' pass through my head before I shut the panel securely behind me.

I pause, a single thought striking me as odd when I shut the closet doors. _Look at me, shamelessly coming out of the closet._ I snort at the mental jeer at myself, shaking my head before leaving.

 _Mzulft isn't far, and though I'm loathe to camp in front of the doors once again, I doubt the new tagalongs have the stamina to last both the journey and the tomb._ Because it's still a tomb, no matter how many times I refer to it as a 'Dwemer city' in my head. My people _died_ in there.

I don't quite manage to fully clear my head, but I DO get out of the city without being spotted thanks to my highly trained and practised skill at sneaking around.

 _And yet_ __I _did not die in those cities. I really want to find this…_ _Vulthuryol_ _, since I'm starting to get the feeling that the reason I'm still here and the reason he's in need of help are connected somehow._

Marcurio is the only one to catch onto my melancholic mood swing. "Let's go then. We follow you, Mr. Dwemer Expert." I give him a half-hearted Look, not daring to make a rude gesture in front of Onmund, who can't be old even in human terms and – "How old are you two?" _Might as well clear that up now, before I'm distracted by it in a deadly trap-inclusive hazard zone._

"This one has seen seventeen summers. Not all of them as pleasantly warm as in my homeland." The Khajit purrs, giving a long, hard look at a sneering Nord – a guardsman standing next to the entrance gates who somehow did not catch me waltzing around.

Even though I went to shout at the docks and entered the city by bribing an Argonian worker to get me over the water so I could take the proverbial back door quite obviously.

That said, it had been a trial and a half to even get J'Zargo into the city. In the end, threatening the guard, pulling the 'Dragonborn'-card saying I'd join the Empire since they, at least, weren't being annoying asswipes to me personally, had been enough for the guards to let the cat beyond the gates.

I seem to have gained a smidgen of respect from the young mages for that, though J'zargo admitted to not knowing what a 'Dragonborn' was in the first place.

"I'm nineteen." I give Onmund a long, considerate look.

"No way."

"Yes way."

 _No way._

"There's absolutely _no way_ you're my age."

Three pairs of eyes turn to me instantly, shocked. "Wait, you're nineteen?" Marcurio exclaims loudly, and I slap my hand in front of his mouth as fast as I can before warily looking around to see if anyone else heard, but we're alone on the road south of Windhelm, near Kynesgrove.

" _Hush._ My birthday's in Sun's Height, so I'll be twenty in less than a month." Onmund is still staring at me with those big blue eyes that do NOT belong on the face of a young adult. Marcurio is also still staring at me with his big brown eyes. I mentally scream even as a blush dusts my cheeks and I avert my gaze to the snow-ridden ground.

"So _what_ if I'm nineteen?"

 _I've probably killed more people than all three of you combined during my time with Jenassa. I might be young, but I'm not innocent like Onmund._

"My birthday's in Frostfall, so you're still older than me." Said blonde mage is trying to console me. I let out a puff of frozen air, forcing myself to push down the unmentionable feelings in my chest. "This one now also wonders how old your Imperial friend is." J'Zargo mentions, and when I look at Marcurio he buries his face in his hands.

He mumbles something incomprehensible, and my ears and J'zargo's both twitch to try and catch the sound better whilst Onmund just gives Marcurio a puppy-eyed stare.

 _What am I saying? He's not even a dog. It must be some sort of human speech quirk that I adopted along the road._

"I'm… twenty-four." _A five year difference? Doable. That's actually quite doable. Ugh. Hold it right there. Stop. Alright, let's just. Stop right there and focus on the present. Let's see… It's starting to snow again._ The white frozen water droplets have me quickly look up at the darkening sky. _If we hurry, we can still make it._

"Well, this was an enlightening conversation. But we really need to get going, unless any of you want to travel at night?"

 **A/N: Not sure what to put here, but meh. Hope you enjoyed my chapter! Reviews are love and stuff! Also, in my effort to stick close to canon lore I came across the little "Khajit aren't allowed in the cities" bit. Uhm, I've played Khajit? Can we have extra race-related questlines to get into new cities, please?**


	23. Mzulft

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Gore, canon-typical murder sprees, slightly more descriptive gore, blood, Falmer, Chaurus having dinner, injuries.**

 **Important Notice: UPPING THE RATING TO 'M' SOON. PROBABLY THE NEXT CHAPTER! Consider yourself warned.**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _Well, this was an enlightening conversation. But we really need to get going, unless any of you want to travel at night?"_

Chapter 23 – Mzulft

Ah, Mzulft. How I had not recognised it upon first laying eyes upon the three sun-reflecting golden towers on top I have no idea.

… _I know perfectly well. It's because I'm an idiot that never paid attention in class when I was supposed to._

I clear my throat and clasp my hands together enthusiastically, ignoring the practically vibrating apprentice wizards – just two, I consider Marcurio to be at least Adept by now – standing at my left.

"Let's hope there's no Falmer in here. If they're not, this will all go swimmingly. Aside from the deadly traps, frostbite spiders, pitfalls, Skeevers, and other assorted nasty surprises."

"Aren't you forgetting the automatons?" I give Onmund a small, confident grin. "Trust me, the Animunculi won't be an issue." Marcurio deadpans before I can get a word out.

I jab him in the ribs with my elbow in 'thanks'. No need to spoil any surprises after all.

"Hey! No injuring allies before the fight!"

I raise an eyebrow at the Imperial mage even as I carefully try the doors. "If you're going to call _that_ an injury, I pray to Si- Arkay that you'll last longer than a minute once we're in there."

Then, to the students: "The trick to Dwemer ruins is to expect the worst kind of brutal death with _every single step you take_ and act accordingly. That means, _no_ touching doors or chests without checking thrice, no distracting, no disregarding any strange sounds or distant noises, and please avoid explosions and other loud, enemy-alerting noises while we're in there. Thank you." I end on a somewhat exasperated note as J'zargo pretends not to be paying attention to me at all.

I know he's listening, but with a trap-ridden ruin in front of my nose with two novices to watch out for aside from a far-too careless Marcurio, I'm a little high strung. _Just a little. All right, stay calm. Pretend Jenassa is giving you advice. Or something._

Actually, pretending Jenassa is here might be a terrible idea since her presence is enough for me to start jumping at every shifting shadow and I'll be doing enough of that, thank you very much.

 _Either way…_ We enter Mzulft on guard, but the first thing that catches my eye isn't an enemy, well, not an enemy in the sense of being dangerous. The man lies there, bloody and broken, and somewhere behind me J'zargo hisses darkly. I'm just walking up to him, close enough to hear his warbled sounds, only to hear of a … crystal? Something stolen? His voice is faint and fading fast, and by the time I've ran up to his body and kneeled over it, the Imperial moans softly in pain once more before falling silent – not breathing. I check for a pulse quickly, but let my hand fall away limp.

Glancing over my shoulder, I shake my head. Onmund whimpers and J'zargo grabs his hand between their robes, barely visible. My eyes widen briefly in surprise, but other than that I show no signs of having noticed. _I see, so they're more than friends. What prejudice they must face here in Skyrim, even in the College. Poor souls._

I rifle through the newly dead man's pockets in silence as Marcurio keeps an eye out for enemies and the two students try to calm each other down. The Antechamber seems to be free of any further messes, though. I find a key and a research notebook. I leave the key with the other ones on my belt.

It's a miracle I can still walk without jingling, though I left most keys in Hjerim - or with Falkreath's Steward, considering the keys the bandits in that hold had held. Quickly, I turn to the notes.

"Marcurio, catch."

I say a few moments later, unable to read some of the jargon the man used still. It's barely been a year, after all, and not everyone in Skyrim writes letters all the time in the same, neat and legible handwriting, so my reading skills are still a bit shaky… Though my speed is the biggest problem, and I probably could have worked it out on my own, given the time. But I don't wish to waste any of that right now.

 _It's pathetic. My people were a race far more advanced than most nowadays could ever hope to be, and yet I can barely read!_

The mage sighs, but dutifully starts reading it to me even as the Winterhold mages stare in confusion.

"Why does he need to read it out loud?" Onmund questions, and I grimace. "I'm… still fairly new to the language. I'm not a fast reader." The teen nods once in understanding, curiosity satisfied. J'zargo is not so easily stopped.

"J'zargo does not understand. Have you not been taught to read and write the common language as all other children?"

 _I… Well, not the language the Khajit is talking about, no._ Marcurio, having paused every time one of us talked, is slowly getting more annoyed. "Can you three brats shut up for a few moments?"

I smartly shut up, giving him my most angelic smile. To my ever-lasting surprise, he smiles back, cheeks colouring – _or is that the light? Sound far more likely._ I then take the key and hold it up to the light briefly.

The only way forwards is locked.

 _Am I feeling lucky?_

The answer to that is yes, as the doors open smoothly. "Let's clear each room as we pass through. Before we head out, here's the signals Marcurio and I use – This is 'Stop'. This is 'Danger'. This is 'Trap'. This means 'Enemy', when using this one, hold up the amount of fingers for the amount of enemies, curl them like this-"

With each sign, I hold my hand in the right position for a few moments, hoping that it's enough for them to remember. "- if you think you're in a situation above your level, or at least in one that will be a serious challenge. Play this game smart and you'll live. As the one with most experience in Dwemer c- ruins, I'll move first to spot most of the traps."

Once all three members of my party have agreed and J'zargo has copied the signs flawlessly, we finally descend into what will likely be even worse than Raldbthar.

The right wall of the first tunnel has collapsed, partially, at least. Thick tree roots and earth grow and poke out from between pillars and stone. I purse my lips disapprovingly, but then again, I'm not entirely sure how much older Mzulft is compared to Nchuand-Zel since we're… since Markarth is located further west, where my people took longer to settle.

I climb the ramp first, keeping a watchful eye every second to see if – I signal 'trap', even as I whisper the word as loudly as I dare, pointing at the trigger plate in the floor and then, after a bet of searching, at the round holes above our heads. A harsh exhale echoes from behind me, probably Onmund but it can also be Marcurio being impatient. I imagine it would sound the same either way.

 _I'm trying to teach these novices how not to lose their heads in here, quite literally. This isn't good for my blood pressure._

The dead researcher I carefully step over – the holes all over his body are a clear indication of what happened, and the trail of blood he left probably meant he was trying to get help before being skewered – goes mostly ignored. _The other guy's companion?_ Regardless of the corpse's identity, I now know we can't linger here too long.

J'zargo hands Onmund the healing potion dropped next to the researcher while I scan the area ahead to find some pots and urns arranged for an animal sacrifice to **Sait'iss**. I huff without sound at the Dwemer spider up ahead.

" **I need your help.** " I state, before rattling off my name and intentions in Dwemeris, using the Calling to verify with them – after that Centurion in Raldbthar, I've learned to be more cautious. The spiders greet me and agree to not attack, though they won't accompany us further, 'telling' me about the Falmer threat ahead before going back to their rounds.

…

"This one thinks it must be quite hard to walk through the ruins of the cities of their own people."

For a few moments, I just stand there, frozen, eyes on the Khajit who smiles in quite the unsettling way. A tail twitches, I breathe in, and the moment passes. "You have _no_ idea." Onmund is brimming with questions, I can tell, but he knows that our meagre cover is more important.

Now, I go first, the mages taking up the task of guarding my back. We move further up a ramp, eastwards, I believe, and meanwhile, we pass plenty of broken pottery and scraps – _what did these Dwemer need all these for? A garden party?_ Two doors, and two more spiders ignoring our party. "So which was do we go now?" Marcurio asks, leaning against the wall briefly as J'zargo once more twirls his staff, and Onmund runs a hand along the carvings on nearly every surface in awe, the spiders scuttling about his feet not seeming to bother him now that he knows they're no threat.

Only one of the doors is trapped. Common sense dictates that that is therefore the one that should be investigated first. "This one's most likely a dead end. I'd like for you all to step aside -step away from it just in case." I walk up to it, having seen the holes in the floor and the tension cable in the corner. It takes all of two seconds to figure out the purpose of the setup.

 _Chances of this being spears? Over 90%, easily._

That said, spear traps take a second or so to activate. I eye the door handle and grin.

I lift my leg.

 _I almost can't believe that even though I pull shit like this I'm still better prepared than most adventurers._ " **Here goes nothing.** "

 _BAM._

I let myself hop back right after, drawing my leg back to the ground fast as lightning when the door slams open, triggering the trap and letting spears shoot out of the ground. I wait a few seconds for them to sink back in before easily waltzing through the opening.

"Are you _sure_ he knows what he's doing?" I hear Onmund ask under his breath. "No, but I've yet to see him fall into a Skeever den, so he must be doing _something_ right." Comes Marcurio's easy reply even as he follows me.

The steam is warm, almost uncomfortably so. But that's part of the charm of steam mechanisms, since I know for a fact Ma swore by the steam-powered **sauna**.

Jeez, _do yourself a favour and stop thinking of your family every ten seconds, it only hurts more._ I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, not bothering to use more than the Calling to alert a fifth spider to out friendly presence.

My companions can't carry the small amount of treasures still in the unlocked chest Spidey no. 5 was guarding, so we distribute the coin and amethysts evenly. I ignore the scrap metal I'd zo zealously gathered in Raldbthar. _I can smelt the materials I still have gathered about first and probably have enough to last a month or two._

That said, no scraps. I let Onmund pick up a few for research without saying anything to Marcurio's 'By the eight, he's as bad as you were.' I roll my eyes, standing still as I do so and spot two scuttles.

I take a few fast steps ahead, letting the spider burst forwards in its ambush and allowing the other spider, No. 5, to click at it reproachfully. I pet its head with a smile. " _No harm done._ " We move further, the sounds of the spiders moving about easily overpowering the noise of our breathing.

Falmer with bows will therefore aim low, expecting only spiders. _I am so, so sorry that I have to use these little ones as targets for as long as they're with us in this zone. They're doing what they were meant to, sure, but it makes me feel like a scumbag._

The Dwemer architecture makes way for natural rock and stone and something inside me shifts – _new mining._

 _Who mines?_

 _The Falmer mine – and these tunnels seem especially recently dug._

I swallow, drawing my axes just to be sure. Sensing my newfound unease, the mages tense almost in perfect unison, Onmund readying his staff though J'zargo doesn't move to grab for a weapon yet.

The next room proves my hunch correct – A Chaurus hunter, eating a researcher. The Winterhold apprentices both gag, and J'zargo covers his sensitive nose at the unrivalled _stench_ oozing from the creature. So absorbed in its meal that it luckily doesn't notice their slips.

Marcurio glares at the novices reproachfully even as my eyes drink in every detail of the room. Just the one Chaurus here. Others must be further ahead. There's plenty of human foods around, and there's another dead researcher or two here somewhere. I signal 'one enemy, danger', before slowly moving out, sticking to the darker parts of the room as far as possible. The two spiders who came in this far with us aren't that patient – they charge immediately.

As the Chaurus is distracted by them, Marcurio starts firing Lightning at the creature, his accuracy barely enough to avoid hitting the spiders – Then, when I see my opening, I sprint from cover, axe raised high as I pounce on the thing, drawing blackish blood that splatters all over me and my Animunculi friends. I let out a low growl, jumping away whilst swinging my axes deliberately – giving Marcurio the chance to fire again, this time joined by J'zargo until the hunter lies dead.

I stay frozen in place, entirely unmoving aside from my ears searching for the smallest of noises – no direct threats. I straighten up. _Looks like we're already down to no spiders._

The food doesn't look very tasty at all from where I'm standing, but I know that I didn't eat enough at breakfast. So I swallow down some raw salmon even as I check the knapsack and the satchel I find, getting help from Marcurio and J'zargo as Onmund stands around poking at the Chaurus corpse with a scholar's look of fascination all over his face.

"I have a feeling this is the last moment of ease we'll have for a bit."

I throw some fruits at Onmund even as J'zargo snickers at an amateur tripwire in the next hall.

More Chaurus follow, and I vaguely wonder how _anything_ , be it Dwemer or Falmer, got an _entire mammoth_ in here through the tunnels even as I stay back and allow the mages to make quick work of the Falmer pets.

For a while after that, we only encounter more Animunculi, who don't like the mages enough to help me out at all with the exception of a single sphere that stays at my heels like a particularly happy guard dog.

It must be one with caretaker protocols, since it follows even beyond its designated patrolling area.

There's also enough treasure to loot for the Winterhold students, and seeing them pick up and tuck away all the gyros and other small trinkets they can get their hands on makes me feel rather… odd. But, I have no right to speak since as Marcurio mentioned earlier, I was just as bad in the past few times we went tomb-delving.

We also find an alchemy station, which is more interesting to me since I'm running low on ingredients for stamina potions. I'm no poisons master, so I'm content to only take the few ingredients that will help me and leave the rest to a far-too-happy Khajit.

It's when we get to another set of double doors, past a trap, when the two novice explorers gasp in horror. I blink and growl as I take note of the dead spiders, and more notably the Falmer corpse. The Animunculi still at my side bristles – I'm pretty sure we're not going to have the sphere with us for a long time once we've moved beyond the suddenly ominous-looking Dwemer doors leading to… a boilery, it seems. Marcurio lets out a long-suffering sigh. "I was hoping those Chaurus would be the end of it."

"Looks like our luck so far is quickly running out." I agree, turning to the students. "That's a Falmer. If you see any alive, either run or blast it with all the force you can muster." Staves are drawn, and I adjust the grip on my axes as Marcurio opens the next doors.

The first things we see are more destroyed Animunculi – _by Xrib, is that one still twitching?_ And I crouch low immediately, being copied by the others as my ears twitch in an attempt to hear any incoming threats – and I hear one. Approaching us.

I lift my axes a little higher, my every muscle tensing as adrenaline roars through my veins. I control my breathing carefully, adjust my stance ever-so-slightly – and when the Falmer turns the corner and spots us, I'm off before Onmund has even finished charging his Staff. I duck to the side of the creature, sliding over the floor a bit and forcing the deadly bastard to focus either on me or on the mages. When it goes for the nearest threat, I block the first downwards hit and _twirl_ behind it, allowing for Marcurio to –

A Firebolt slams into the Falmer warrior, and I hit the floor in an attempt to dodge the shower of burning, bloody, _disgusting_ gore that follows and rains down on my head and my shoulders, _dripping down my hair and ears in small, stinking pieces of flesh and bone –_ _okay, Ew with a capital E this is FUCKING DISGUSTING._

 _UGH!_

I stand up shakily, giving the junior mage a fierce glare and wiping my face with the back of my hand. " _Thanks,_ J'zargo, for reminding me that I need a bath." A small piece of charred flesh slowly starts to slide down my forehead towards my sporadically twitching eye and I shudder in horror, expression twisting into a grimace as the smell of charred meat, ashes, and unwashed Falmer overpowers everything else.

The Khajit at least pretends to look apologetic. "J'zargo is unused to working with close combatants. This one will seek to rectify that from here on." I would nod at him, but I'm not sure how much Falmer remains will drip down my face if I do. We move on, a new urgency in our movements as we pass yet another dead body – a researcher, this time.

Together, we face some more Falmer patrols, and every time I'm the one playing the distraction whilst the mages charge their spells, resulting in blood and gore getting all the way in my eyes, mouth and even _up my nose._

…When that happens, I freeze for all of two seconds before snorting and puking my guts out next to a pillar, spluttering and coughing and more than happy to accept the tissues Onmund keeps conjuring out of nowhere.

 _Maybe he actually conjures them, for all I care to concern myself with that._

Eventually, we stumble across another tunnel, and I hear Marcurio caution the other two against more possible Chaurus. I feel dirty, disgusting, the taste in my mouth is puke mixed with blood and burned flesh and it makes me want to vomit even more, the scents of death and bodily fluids are clogging my nose, and I'm dripping with blood and bits of charred remains, as well as pieces of ice.

… _I'm NEVER working together with multiple inexperienced, panicky mages EVER again._

A major part of me just wants to turn around and forget about the Staff of Magnus – I don't even know what they think they'll need it for other than to control that orb. A single magical ball can't bring about that much trouble, can it?

But alas, I gave my word, and so we press on in single file through the narrow, dark tunnel, J'zargo taking up the rear, Onmund in front of him, both at a respectable distance from me, and in front of me walks Marcurio, who follows the Dwemer sphere. I have no idea what happened to the other Animunculi. _I don't want to know._

…

The first Falmer camp is dealt with without much issue, aside from Onmund nearly falling flat on his back dodging a hostile spell from the magic-using Falmer.

The second camp, after we spot it through a few thin slits J'zargo proceeds to try and fire a spell through is a mild chaos since the Khajit mage misses his target and alerts the vindictive Falmer.

Once they're down, general observations find me seeing both Marcurio and Onmund got hit by arrows. Marcurio's only grazed him and got stuck in his robes. Onmund… wasn't so lucky. I kneel next to the teen, already cutting away at his robes to find the place where the arrow pierced his arm.

My _favourite_ Imperial in all of Tamriel casts Candlelight to make the process of removing it easier.

"Straight through. Marcurio, keep a lookout for more trouble. J'zargo – in my knapsack, there's red bottles. Healing potions. Get me two whilst I remove this." I look Onmund dead in the eye. "I won't lie. This will hurt."

He's pale, biting his bottom lip with a pained grimace even though he doesn't even peep. The arrow went straight through the outer part of his arm – luckily, Falmer arrows are made to pierce, not stick, so when I brace after breaking off the top of the shaft I already know it'll come out without further tearing the muscle.

"Alright, on three. J'zargo, give him the potion right after. One -"

I pull harshly, and this time the Nord lets out a cry before his voice is muffled by the potion being shoved down his throat. "The other one, too. Onmund, are you still with us?" The blonde nods weakly several times before J'zargo and I haul him back onto his feet. The potions are already working – the bleeding is stopping. "You're going to have to keep up for now." I grimly tell him, and something like steel shifts in the blonde's eyes. "I won't hold us back."

I exchange a glance with J'zargo, who nods – he'll keep an eye out for his partner in crime.

 **A/N: So, next chapter, upping the rating to M. If you feel like this chapter already deserves that title, PLEASE alert me to it and I will change the rating as soon as I am able to do so. I've no wish to violate any guidelines here. That said, see you next week!**


	24. Mzulft, pt 2

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Gore, canon-typical murder sprees, slightly more descriptive gore, blood, Falmer, more injuries. M RATING.**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _I won't hold us back."_

 _I exchange a glance with J'zargo, who nods – he'll keep an eye out for his partner in crime._

Chapter 24 – Mzulft, part 2

Chaurus breeding caves smell like a combination of five week old dead fish, mouldy socks, sulphur, fungus, and unwashed animal. The stench is eye-watering, and even breathing through my mouth doesn't help since a similarly penetrating _taste_ hangs in the air with the smell. _Disgusting._

I have to hold back my gag reflex multiple times as we fight the lone Chaurus and get out of the nest as fast as possible – and I'm not the only one, as J'zargo empties his stomach. "This is worse than the mages' torture rooms in Fellglow Keep." The cat grouches, hairs standing on end.

… _What were they doing in Fellglow Keep? Wasn't some crazy mage cult settled there?_

Another Falmer and a picked-clean human skeleton and Chaurus behind separate doors later, we come across a rectangular room – but what really draws my eye is the shallow pool running down its length. Two Falmer stand on the other end, and I gesture for Marcurio to do the honours.

"With _pleasure_."

A blinding amount of Chain Lightning later and I'm sinking to my knees in the pool, scrubbing the worst of the muck I'm covered in out of my hair, face and hands. The smell is going to linger in my armour for _weeks_ , if it ever fully washes out at all, but I'll have to wait until we're back outside before I can even hope to take off the sticky plates and blood-soaked underclothes.

I shudder violently, and _not_ because of the water's temperature.

At the very least, my splashing about doesn't draw more enemies in our direction, allowing me to clean up at least semi-effectively.

I think I might feel mildly traumatised. I've never been covered in this much blood and gore – Jenassa usually kept her kills clean, not messy like these Winterhold students do. Another spear trap is disabled, and the treasure in the next room is worth facing the Chaurus hidden behind it, even if it does give me a long scratch on my armour.

 _The amounts of dents and scratches on my gear are getting ridiculous. I should make a new set of dragon armour – maybe gift some to Onmund and J'zargo, bracers or boots better than that horrid lack of armour they're wearing now. I should have given them spare parts I'd been saving for Marcurio back at Hjerim._

Oh well, no use crying over spilt milk.

I'm relieved when we get to leave the Chaurus-infested boilery when I spot the next set of letters on the doors: 'Aerodrome'. _Sounds fancy, whatever an aerodrome is. Maybe it's the place we're supposed to be._

By now, the dead Synod researchers are a welcome sight – that way I know we're still going in the right direction. Mzulft has fallen into disrepair even worse than Nchuand-Zel, or so I think, from the small parts of my own city I saw on my way out. I should count myself lucky that I didn't run into any Falmer back then, alone, inexperienced, confused... _That would not have ended well._

"I hate Dwemer ruins." Onmund groans, already walking by himself again and having regained some of the colour in his cheeks.

"J'zargo agrees. But J'zargo also knows that once we get through this trouble he will likely never have to set foot in a Dwemer ruin again." His tail curls excitedly as he adjusts his robes – he'd gathered everything of value he could find and stashed it underneath them, I've no clue as to how or even why.

I come to a stop when I see the tattered banner hanging proudly between two large, ornate, Dwemer head decorations. There are two paths from here, but I'm pretty sure they'll lead to the same point when the Dwemer of Mzulft showcase something like this.

A sign of pride lies ahead.

But there'll be a visitors area first, at the very least.

"Observe the banner of Mzulft." I say in a low voice when the others catch up from looting the Falmer we'd just killed. "The Dwemer here never travelled far west, so I've only seen it on dignitaries whenever they visited my home..." A wan smile plays on my lips.

"I wonder, had we been a less curious race, would they have ever even _built_ an Oculory?" _Would we have never dabbled in things we should have left untouched? And would we still be here as a result?_

I shake my head slightly, heading for the left path. "I sense trouble ahead." Marcurio bites, already charging a spell in each hand. "You sense correct." I confirm, clutching my axes a little tighter, the blood making them slick. "Prepare yourselves."

We proceed slowly, cautiously.

Every breath my companions utter is too loud to my ears, and every squishing sound of a blood-soaked boot tapping lightly against the floor has my heart tremble.

The shadows seem to shift around me, foreboding thick and heavy and oppressing in the air. I shiver as if cold, but deep inside I know it's not that…

It's as if someone has walked over my grave with feet clad in red ice, unnaturally frozen blood, dripping, melting into my coffin and running down my neck.

Like the faint stains I spot, scattered here and there along the floor.

 _Unnatural_. And worse than anywhere else in the ruined, solemn, silent city.

A tomb of my people.

The lone Falmer, a mere scout, at the top of the stairs is killed by my axe splitting it's skull whilst it's skinny, deformed back is turned, my heart racing uncomfortably fast.

The next Falmer isn't alone – a group of at least five of them are spread throughout a large room as J'zargo and I peek into it from the shadows as silently as we can before backing away. " _Warmonger_." I hiss darkly at Marcurio, who stiffens, eyes going wide.

The sense of impending doom becomes suffocating, and I almost choke on it if not for the fact that it would instantly warn my enemies.

The Falmer Warmongers are like Orc Chieftains. The big bosses amongst the Falmer. Even more so than the Shadowmasters could ever hope to _dream_. They know multiple schools of magic, like Destruction, Conjuration, and Healing and use heavy armour and weapons on top of that.

Almost certain death.

I take a few deep breaths, coming to a chilling realisation as the mages wait for me, their eyes wide and their soft, shuddering breaths nearly loud enough to alert the monster up ahead.

I'm scared.

I feel real, paralysing fear. I want to curl up under some blankets and let the world fend for itself. _But… there's people counting on me here. Even if I don't want to fight, I won't get a choice._

The second realisation hits me like a sword in the chest – and a sword in the chest is a likely possibility, what with the danger of this group of Fallen, twisted creatures.

 _I have no choice._

Risking another glance, I note that the nearest Falmer have their backs turned to us. The Warmonger is standing, unmoving, it's face aimed unwaveringly at me even though it has no eyes. Pale, long ears turn and flick in our direction.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say my own rapid, pounding heartbeat gave us away.

 _No choice._

With a soundless exhale, I gather all the steely willpower I can muster.

I point at Onmund and J'zargo: "Provide support", then at Marcurio: "Ready?" He smirks then, confidence regained a bit though his eyes bely his own fear, and nods at me, Chain Lightning at the ready.

I return his grin with what feels more like a grimace, hefting my axes.

Then I stroll out into the room like I'm on an easy afternoon walk, giving away my position instantly as I focus on the Warmonger. A single, drawled sentence escapes my lips in a small show of my impending hysteria.

" **Hello darlings, guess who's home?** "

…

The world descends into a loud, screeching, foul-smelling, blood-soaked, spell-filled, _glorious_ chaos as I proceed to Shout my body intangible and pounce on the nearest enemy as all the others rush in around me with my axes high and a war cry on my lips.

The battle rages around me, spells sizzling and fire and ice and electricity fly past me and over my head, and the Warmongers lets out a horrid screech, startling me as it charges.

A shock spell slams into the ground at my left as I dodge desperately, ducking underneath the blade and jamming my axe into the foul creatures hide. A kick in the gut sends me back, sprawling, gasping, but _I can't lose. I have no choice._

" **SHIT!** "

The Warmonger slashes violently. I roll to the side, bringing my blades up again, blocking a downward blow, feeling dark satisfaction at blood seeping into fur. My ankles scream, but I move towards it once more, cautious this time.

Back on my feet. A spell passes by my head, mere centimetres. I don't turn to glance. I see a sword, a spell, stained armour. It trusts the blade, low, sends the spell high. The blade clatters to the ground, but the spell burns and hisses, I flinch, my ear dissolving into agony.

I cry out in pain, scrambling to the side instinctively. Bad move. A fist in my face, at my throat, and I grab a thin, scratchy wrist, struggling, fighting.

Marcurio's pained cry cuts sharply through my mind, clearing it as fog falls before the sun, redness in my vision. I cry again, this time in rage. And this time I don't flinch. All around me, a dragon roars.

…

I blink slowly, the blood seeping into my eye making it hard to see. Black sludge, comparable to badly burned, sickly smelling stew, a limp arm sticking out of it, discarded. A Dwemer axe firmly embedded between what would have been eyes, red and white fluids dripping to the filthy ground like egg yolk.

I turn to the side and vomit.

…

After I finished off the Warmonger, J'zargo looted the foul thing. I stand around blankly, uselessly, as Marcurio scouts the other paths, and Onmund sits down to rest his arm with a grimace.

The blonde Nord is also the first to reach me when I hit the ground, sinking down on one knee with a grunt as white-hot pain shoots through me at the movement. I let him guide me by my arm to the nearest suitable rock, where he gives me a stern glare.

"Sit down."

Black sludge at the edge of my vision, taunting, nauseating.

I sit.

"You must have gotten injured in the fray – I would have been shocked if you hadn't gotten hurt. I can't believe you're so careless!" He lectures me sternly, trying to pry off the sticky, gore-covered pieces of my armour.

 _Something pierced my armour?_ It doesn't really register, and now that I think of it, my surroundings weren't this hazy before.

 _What pierced my armour?_

"Dear Kynareth! The dagger's still in you! And your _knee,_ by the nine your _knee and your face, too-_ " _Stabbed?_

"Onmund, calm down. Fjaldi, I feel I haven't told you how much of a moron you are enough…"Now that he mentions it, my side feels kind of funny. I look down, confused, my mind slow to catch up with what my eyes are seeing in the shock.

 _My body… hurts_. Now, I let out a groan in pain, tilting my head back to blearily stare at the high ceiling. A wet cough leaves me and my skull seems too heavy for my neck when it weakly rolls back down to see the hilt sticking out of my side. I glace further down – _and the arrow in my knee._

I snort.

 _The fucking ARROW in my fucking KNEE._

Somehow, in my shock, it's hilarious in its familiarity.

"Curio, hey. Hey, listen to me." I slur, tugging at his sleeve and once those brown, beautiful brown eyes are entirely on me I grin balefully.

"It seems my adventuring days are over…"

He scowls. "What? No they're not. You'll be fine. Just give us a moment to remove the weapons and feed you potions." I'm already shaking my head, grinning like an idiot – " _No_. No, you don't it get, 'curio." Another snort passes my lips, and I'm starting to feel a little light-headed.

"I used to be an adventurer like you… _Then I took an arrow in the knee._ "

As soon as the last word leaves me I'm laughing, too loudly, mind going to the guards and their endless comments and worries and _so many of them_ took and arrow in the knee _and I think it means something else entirely gods this isn't even funny why am I laughing it hurts to laugh and I can't see a thing or hear anything over that awful_ _ **ringing**_ _noise in my ears -_

My laughter is abruptly cut off by a agonised howl as the dagger is yanked out of my side, and I instinctively clutch it with my hand, pushing down even as I double over.

The aforementioned arrow in my knee is swiftly broken and pushed through, as well.

My breath comes out in short, shallow, pained gasps – _I'm all out of breath, for Sait'iss' sake. It hurts –_ My vision is covered in black dots and I feel myself fading…

…

A cool glass bottle is put at my lips, and a hand is gently guiding my dirt-covered head to drink. I close my eyes and lean into the touch, barely feeling my body swaying as I let whoever is holding me feed me health potion after health potion – _that wasn't a health potion but an antidote was the dagger poisoned?_ The whole world shifts out of focus, turning black, then, white, then black again.

As the liquids finally start to work, I feel my thoughts becoming clearer again, coming back to the present bit by bit as the person almost cradles my body in an embrace, the warmth seeping through my armour and a familiar scent faint through the stench penetrating the air.

I cough a few times, grabbing at the knee of whoever is having me sitting between their legs as I try to catch my breath, squeezing my eyes shut tightly with a small moan of discomfort.

" _Fucker._ "

I'm usually not one to curse, not badly at least, but I think this situation rather calls for a vulgar word or two. _Four. Twenty. Whatever_. "….me back. You're back, right? You were gone for a moment there thanks to that poison." A blonde is saying.

 _Do I know him?_ I give the man a considering look, waiting for my brain to kick in properly.

 _Oh, right. Onmund. The Oculory. The Falmer. Who is holding me, anyway?_

"Poison?"

My tongue feels like lead, and the taste is just – ugh. "It's a good thing you brought all those potions with you, both from Hjerim and scattered around this place." The young mage continues blatantly ignoring my question. "What poison?"

"You'll be fine, it was a lingering Damage Health poison, a weak type but it can put you out fast." J'zargo comments from where he's turning a crystal to observe it from different angles. "J'zargo thinks he likes this crystal, but he might not get to keep it."

 _If J'zargo is sitting there… and Onmund over there… Then Marcurio…_ dread settles in my stomach as I slowly look up. Straight into those eyes. I blink rapidly a few times, only now fully taking in my position. I'm propped up against his solid chest with my back, the mage's legs on either side of my waist and his hand holding my head steady as he pours one last stamina potion down my throat.

 _Oh._ My pointed ears turn a vivid red even as a milder blush covers my cheeks. _This is… quite intimate._

Marcurio doesn't seem to mind, _Xrib's forge, he doesn't even look uncomfortable_ , seeming perfectly content to stay where he is and wait for me to get up on my own.

 _Does he… like me close by? I probably just startled him. Of course he'll be worried that his money bag expires._ I gnaw on my bottom lip, frowning at the corridor ahead and missing Marcurio's gaze moving.

"We need to get moving." _We're almost there, I can feel it._

That said, standing up is more easily said than done.

With the help of both Marcurio and Onmund, I manage to stand a bit shakily and take several steps with a pronounced limp. Just as I'm about to grit my teeth and push through the pain to walk without assistance, J'zargo presses his Staff of Firebolt into my hand. "J'zargo thinks you might need a crutch until we get outside." I give him a thankful smile, and hobble after the two apprentices as they take the lead, Marcurio sticking with me – something I greatly appreciate.

 _Endure, Fjaldi, endure._ I ruthlessly remind myself, gritting my teeth together.

Every step has my knee scream out in protest and my side twinge painfully. Healing potions are not numbing potions, so as you heal you _feel_ the way muscles and bone knit back together – agonising, but I've faced trolls and draughr and dragons, so I can face an injury.

In front of the second locked door – _leading up a ramp, of course, because why make it easy? –_ lies another dead Falmer. "I'm starting to get quite sick of Falmer." I state sullenly, getting quiet mutters of agreement in return as J'zargo tries to open the Dwemer gates without much success.

Then we all hear a 'click' from the other side and freeze, J'zargo taking a few steps away from the door until he's next to Onmund again. We all stare apprehensively, my hand resting on my axe again when something rummages behind the door…

 **A/N: AAAAAND WE HAVE A 'M'-RATING HERE I THINK. I changed it.**

 **SPECIAL THANKS FOR THIS CHAPTER GOES TO** _ **Shadowblayze**_ **FOR BEING AN AWESOME REVIEWER! Seriously, you're great at giving me inspiration for next chapters~ Thanks to you I have actually written 3 ENTIRE CHAPTERS IN ONE GO! Which means I'll be able to update now AND Monday! So thanks again!**


	25. Containment

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Canon-typical murder sprees, injuries, manipulating people into hating the Thalmor 2k17. Bit of a fragmented chapter.**

 **Let's play 'Catch the (3) Harry Potter references'!**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _Then we all hear a 'click' from the other side and freeze, J'zargo taking a few steps away from the door until he's next to Onmund again. We all stare apprehensively, my hand resting on my axe again when something rummages behind the door…_

Chapter 25 - Containment

…Only for it to open and reveal a Synod mage with a sour disposition and a face that belongs on an ass. I bite the inside of my cheek harshly to avoid snickering inappropriately – _or perhaps to muffle another grunt of pain, it's a coin toss at this point_ \- at the face Onmund pulls as the man goes on to accuse the Winterhold students of not being the corpse we encountered all the way back at the entrance.

Allowing the apprentice mages who wanted to come here in the first place to deal with the irate researcher, I take a few moments to observe Marcurio – I daresay I haven't seen him this haggard before. _He must have ran into a spot of trouble getting those items he brought over._

I don't miss the glances he sends my way, either. I suppose I should be glad he's at least a little bit concerned for my well-being. The gnarly, annoyingly scratchy voice of the Synod mage breaks through my mental fog.

"Fine, you two _, fine_. Come in then."

Our ragged group follows the Synod researcher through a seemingly endless corridor – though that could be my leg talking. We reach what looks like a huge… **armillary sphere** , I believe it's called. I can't help the smile on my face when I see the awe written all over my mage companions, filled with a sense of pride.

 _See what my people could create?_

The researchers drones on about the sphere, and the Synod and their secret research and the focusing crystal J'zargo is still holding and something about gathering starlight.

 _Gathering starlight._ Sounds poetic, if impossible.

"It's really just an **armillary sphere,** meant to show a map of the stars, or a map in general." I mumble under my breath for only Marcurio to hear, who gives me a surprised look.

"I thought you had no idea what could be down here." He whispers back, and I shrug absently, not answering that question when watching Onmund and J'zargo set to trying to solve the puzzle that is the activation sequence is far better entertainment.

After we've all stumbled up yet another ramp, surrounding the sphere and allowing a clear view of the many mirrors on the walls and ceiling and, really, all around the room.

 _Forget Falmer. Forget Alduin. Stairs and uphill ramps are my new greatest enemies._ I mentally grouch, shifting my weight off my sore knee as much as possible when standing up and feeling a little light-headed.

I let them play with their new toy for a while, instead keeping an eye on Paratus – something about him rubs me the wrong way. _Maybe it's the crazed look in his eyes. Maybe it's just his face._

My expression hardens even as I start reading the 'Dwemer Inquiries' series to brush up on my reading skills after failing so spectacularly to read the research notes we found earlier. _When he outlives his usefulness, I'll have to make sure I… linger a bit. Just to talk._ When I finish reading the book and turn my hand to trying 'Dwemer History and Culture', the two apprentices still haven't figured out the puzzle.

So I just glance down at the mirrors, trying to find a pattern but not right away seeing one, and then turning back to Dwemer History and Culture – _What? What's this? A 'fearsome warrior race' with 'profane mechanisms', 'capable of bending the laws of nature to their will' and 'tainted by bla-bla religious practices'?_

…

I snicker softly, but then I really start to think about my people and their actions throughout the periods of history I can still remember, as well as what they were doing while I was around.

 _We did wage plenty of wars, both with other Dwemer and races of Man and elf, and we DID have more advanced weaponry than most others had at the time, such as the ballistae. I suppose we were quite war-happy with all those specialised Animunculi even Ma loved to equip with as many deadly weapons as possible._

… _And the scholars researched plenty of things they shouldn't have… And sending human or elf sacrifices to Xrib, Sait'iss and even Arknurlaf during her Fall Celebrations…Uhm…_ Well, I don't know. I think the Nords would balk at the idea, but… Being chosen as sacrifice is a great honour. Even though some of the Dwemer preferred animal sacrifices.

"This is surprisingly accurate." I muse, deciding on a whim to keep the book for myself, stuffing it in my knapsack whilst the researcher is occupied with the Oculory mechanisms.

Every race has their downsides. Like the Bosmer and their Meat Mandate… though I suppose that's not as high on the list of 'bad things' compared to how I know most of the people in this time I know will react to hearing of some of the experiments and practises my people performed… Or how we basically committed mass genocide several times.

 _Right. Time to change this mental subject or I might actually start falling back into the 'other races are primitive'- mind-set Marcurio got so pissed about._

… _Even though my people ARE still more advanced than anything the other races could dream of, technologically speaking… Not talking about the magic or other parts of the contemporary culture, just the pure technological knowledge, that is._

"Have you figured it out yet?" I call down at the two apprentices who are now engaged in a heated discussion. I'm growing quite bored. Marcurio is leisurely walking around the room, prodding a mirror here and moving a small item there.

"We've been using Flames and Frostbite spells to move those," Onmund gestures at the ceiling, where beams of light are now quite differently rearranged from how they were previously, "But we aren't sure what we should do next. I suggested the pedestals, but J'zargo said that something like that would be too easy." I give the prissy Khajit an amused look.

"Try the pedestals anyway." I suggest, now seeing the patterns in the lights. "Try to align them… so they all point at the centre. We're trying to focus the light, after all." Onmund nods happily and sets to work right away whilst J'zargo hisses at me. "This one thinks _you_ haven't been trying anything, sell-sword."

A laugh passes my lips before I can stop it, further annoying the apprentice. "I'm not running around solving puzzles on _this_ leg… Besides, Onmund's already figured it out."

It's a map.

 _Wow. How incredibly surprising. How could I ever have seen this coming?_ A mental voice sounding much like Marcurio drones dully in the back of my mind.

A glowing, detailed map of what appears to be the entire northern half of Tamriel shows up on the wall. I let out a low whistle, and after a few moments hesitation because of my leg, I hobble over to get a better view of the projection.

Paratus exclaims over it with enthusiasm, but I can see his happiness fade away like snow before the sun, being replaced by a deep frown. "Something is interfering – something at your damned college!" he snaps at the apprentices, having correctly guessed that Marcurio and I have little to do with that place.

Onmund caves and tells the man about the Eye of Magnus, and how they're here only to figure out the location of the Staff that comes with it. J'zargo, severely disapproving of Paratus with his tail sweeping agitatedly, helps Onmund get some breathing opportunities with clipped, harsh answers and snide comments.

…

The two leave back through the corridor, heading for the door we passed on our way there, once they have a new goal – 'Labyrinthian'. Sounds ominous. I don't like what my moral codes are telling me, either.

Marcurio sighs, swiftly falling into step with my far slower pace.

While we follow after them as quickly as my limp – even with support from the staff – allows through a final hallway before we leave Mzulft forever, time stops. \

My mind draws a blank.

… _It. It just. Stopped._

 _Time stopped?_

 _Huh?_

I really have no other explanation. The colours all around me and Onmund turn grey, faded like old fabric, and Marcurio and J'zargo are unmoving. As much as statues, and it's honestly creeping me out.

It's like the edges of my vision are playing tricks on me when I move my head to look at Onmund in utter confusion.

"What's happening?" I ask as calmly as possible, seeing how unfazed the student looks.

When he stares at me in surprise and opens his mouth, presumably to explain, or at least exclaim in shock, he's rudely interrupted by another mage appearing from thin air.

Appearing. Out of literally nowhere.

 _Count me concerned._

I curse, loudly, in Dwemeris, stumbling back from the hooded figure with widening eyes. _Teleportation AND stopping time? Who IS this guy?_ The mage observes me for a few moments. I'm assessing whether drawing my axes would be appreciated.

 _Somehow,_ I muse, _I don't think it will be_.

"We had thought _you_ would be the one to help save Winterhold, Dragonborn, but it seems your identity has made your involvement as we predicted impossible. The Dwemer were and did many things, terrible things, at times, yes… But great things nonetheless."

"Regardless, magical inclination has never been your people's strong suit." I shrug non-committedly as the stranger – _a stalker, more like -_ continues:

"Nevertheless, your involvement is still vital to the success of this mission. But, I am wasting precious time and energy." He turns to Onmund, wide purple robes swirling about his sticky figure. "Winterhold is in grave danger. You must make haste, and go there, lest the college will be lost to even us, forever."

Onmund, _innocent, proud little Nord, inexperienced Onmund,_ frowns determinedly, a glint of steel in his blue eyes, clenching glove-clad fists at his sides.

"We'll go there right away."

 _Even so, he's still a boy. I can't see the darkness in his gaze that I, or Marcurio for that matter, both hold from seeing the worst the world has to offer … Yet._

 _If only I was capable enough, STRONG enough, to keep it that way. To keep that light from dimming._

The mage nods solemnly in return, once, and colour bleeds back into the world - though not without a parting wave of magic aimed at my injured kneecap. I stand frozen, only capable of gaping like a fish at the sudden and complete lack of any pain or aches whatsoever, as well as the encounter I – we, just had.

Once I come back to my sense, I level a mild glare at Onmund. "I think you owe me a small explanation whilst we're on our way to Winterhold." The blonde Nord at least has the decency to rub the back of his head sheepishly. "Well… okay. I guess."

I press the staff of Firebolt back into a surprised J'zargo's hands, before taking a few experimental steps, only feeling a dull ache though the limp is still there and likely will be for a while. My lips twitch into a small, childish grin.

 _Okay, colour me impressed then, weird stalker-mage._

"Oh, Fjaldi, by the way, you also have a new scar on your ear – a burn scar, I think you managed to nearly scorch the tip off there, it's quite an angry red." Marcurio remarks casually as we finally walk out of Mzulft, ending up at a remote lookout somewhere on a mountainside.

A freaking mountainside.

Suddenly, my everlasting gratefulness to the strange time-stopping stalker-wizard shoots up into the sky and beyond the stars, with such ferocity that I let out a relieved 'whoosh' of air, sinking to the stone.

 _Thank the gods for that man. I don't trust him as far as I could throw a dragon, but I'm grateful nonetheless. If my knee was still in agony…_

I shudder just _thinking_ about the consequences.

The fresh air and gentle breeze, warm for this time of the year, make it impossible to get annoyed at having some new scars to mar my skin, though. And accompanied with an overwhelming sense of _relief_ and _holy shit we could have died_ and _never doing that again_ mixing and mashing up inside my chest like a knot, there's really only one thing I have to say, laughing breathlessly:

" _Thank the gods_ , we're ALIVE!"

I follow with a loud whoop of joy, throwing my arms up in the air, still cackling and soon echoed by J'zargo and Onmund, who laugh along even as we descend, slowly and carefully, Marcurio steadily supporting me all the way down even though he seems the most exhausted out of the whole group.

 _I'll make sure he gets rest, and soon._ I vow to myself, worried at his sullen silence.

…

"This one is _never_ setting a foot in a Dwemer ruin again." The Khajit mage vows solemnly, and the sentiment is echoed by Onmund even as Marcurio and I exchange wry looks.

"I _will_ be running through Dwemer ruins again, if only for the sake of pest control." I mutter darkly, thinking about the Falmer I've seen so far, mentally comparing them with the Snowmer I knew.

 _That transformation can't be ALL my people's fault. After the Dwemer vanished, they could have gone back above the ground and rebuild their temples and cities, or something._

We do make haste for Winterhold, not stopping when evening falls, and paying a confused carriage owner at Windhelm twice the usual fee to get to Winterhold as quickly as possible.

Once the cart sets off, I can barely hold back a cry of pain. My side throbs fiercely – _right, I've been stabbed. Sithis' balls –_ at the impact of old, creaking wooden wheels against uneven cobblestone.

Tentatively, gingerly, I lean against Marcurio, who sits next to me, at my uninjured left side. The apprentices sit opposite us, muscles too taut for them to relax even a smidgen, J'zargo's mood greatly influenced by Onmund's pursed lips and tired, squinty-eyed look of worry as the blonde Nord wobbles dangerously on his spot.

After a few minutes, the cat sighs, and with a careful glance at the carriage driver, reaches with his claw behind Onmund, coaxing the Nord to rest his head on J'zargo's lap. The blonde manages a faint smile, and after threading their fingers together fondly, the Khajit mage turns to us.

"You all rest. This one will stay on guard for now."

At any other time, I'd have refused. Now?

Now I simply give him a thankful grimace, closing my eyes and leaning against Marcurio more heavily, his shoulder the perfect pillow compared to the hard, unforgiving wood beneath me.

A few seconds of tense silence later, I hear a deep yawn, and I feel a foreign weight on the top of my head, my favourite Imperial leaning on me in return. My grimace turns a little fonder, my expression a little softer, if sadder.

 _I have to be more careful. I wouldn't want to fall in too deep._

…

We ride through the dusk, and when we arrive in the downtrodden city, night has already fallen. At least three out of four members of our little group managed to doze off a little.

Marcurio, and the apprentices to a lesser degree, seem in a state of disquiet – _what can they sense?_

 _Why can't I sense it? Magic can be so anno…_

I swallow the thought when the carriage drops us off and I feel no pain from my knee when I hit the snowbanks.

 _Nevermind._

Crossing the sorry excuse of a bridge with clear skies, no wind, and bright sunlight is quite different from doing the same in the dead of night, frosty gales whipping about us.

"Sir! We've found the location of the-"

"I have no time to talk right now." The Dunmer, who must be the Arch-mage if his fancy robes and air of authority are any indication, yells over the mess inside the college. "That blasted Thalmor, Ancano, has taken control of the Eye!"

I deadpan. _There's a mess and there's Thalmor involved. Why am I not surprised?_

There's a barrier blocking the way to the magical orb, and I can see an Altmer in typical Thalmor robes standing beyond it, seemingly talking to the Eye. _Talking to a magical object. This guy's insane._

Mirabelle is talking to Ancano, or at least attempting to, since the elf isn't exactly listening to reason. Onmund and J'zargo jump to help immediately, this time getting a proper reaction out of the Mer: "You two pathetic insects stay out of this!"

"Ancano, stop this insanity!" the Arch-mage calls out, firing spells at the barrier alongside his Master Wizard and the two students. I urge Marcurio to stay at a distance. "This is not our fight until he hurts them." The imperial doesn't need to ask to know who 'them' are, and sticks close to my injured side. I still haven't had a bath – it's a miracle he can stand the smell and dried blood all over me.

If we had walked in during daytime, the reactions of the villagers would have been absolute hilarity. Ancano spots our movements, minor as they are, and scowls. "And who are _you?_ Don't tell me, the mercenaries Ervine hired?" I look him in the eye blankly, plastering my deadliest glare onto my face without faking even a smidgen of the threat. Being covered in blood and gore, dressed in full armour, I suppose I might look even more fearsome, since the Altmer falters. It's enough for the barrier to be broken, and the Arch-mage approaches the Thalmor with a spell in each hand. "Now, Ancano, we're going to-"

…

A deafening explosion shakes the very foundations of the college, blowing me backwards against the wall with my ears ringing and my vision pure, undiluted white for a few moments. My side flares up in agony, and I let my body sink to the icy floor to catch my breath as my vision slowly returns, the light leaving spots dancing before my eyes. It takes even longer for the painful ringing to fade, and for me to take a good look at the situation. Marcurio is out cold next to me, having limply flopped onto the ground from the magical backlash.

Onmund is barely conscious, but J'zargo is already getting back onto his feet, albeit shakily. Mirabelle is nowhere to be seen. _What just happened?_ Then I spot the Master Wizard, her breaths shallow and rattling. I stumble over to her, fumbling with a healing potion which she accepts with an agonised grimace. "The… Arch-Mage… Savos Aren… go find him, quickly!" Onmund is scrambling to his feet, but Marcurio still isn't. I give Mirabelle a short glance. "Watch my friend while I'm gone."

"Onmund! J'zargo!" They turn to me, and the Nord winces as if sympathising with my current state of pain and misery. _I want to go to sleep. But I must endure. I'm not letting these – these CHILDREN go out there alone where their teachers fail to help them._ "We must find Savos Aren. Now. Can you move?" They nod in unison, falling into step with me without missing another beat as we walk out into the courtyard.

 _What in Oblivion are those?_

Ten minutes later, I'm again engaged in battle, this time herding magical anomalies away from terrified townsfolk and killing said anomalies as I please – there's plenty of them to go around.

My mind is racing, even as I hack away at yet another enemy, J'zargo at my back whereas Onmund has teamed up with Faralda.

 _The Arch-Mage was the leader of the college. Now he's dead. Mirabelle is taking over, I suppose, but that means that no faculty members will be available to find the Staff of Magnus, or at least accompany the students there._

 _It will likely be up to them to find the staff. And when that happens, I'll join in once more._

My mouth twists into a snarl. "I want a _Sithis damned bath_ and one night of _sleep_ , is that too much to ask?" J'zargo chuckles as he fires off another attack. "J'zargo agrees with you, friend, but we must first eliminate this threat. Then J'zargo will sleep for _days_." I want to say 'me too', but I doubt I'll have such luxury.

"Why _magical anomalies_?!" The Khajit cries out in dismay a while later, slamming his staff into the ground and brutally roasting another one of the bastards even as I pounce on the one sneaking up behind his back.

"Why could the damn orb not have spat out _butterflies?_ "

A bark of laughter escapes me at the unexpected comment, and I'm obviously not the only one who finds it funny, as Faralda starts to laugh.

"Because they're _foul, loathsome, evil little cockroaches_! That's why!" She yells over the chaos.

Laughing during a fight is generally a bad idea for a _damn_ good few reasons, though, and the girl pays the price with a hard hit to the shoulder that would have killed her, if not for Onmund's timely intervention.

It takes a while of hacking, and slashing, and ducking to avoid friendly fire, before everything calms down again. I send J'zargo and Onmund off to Mirabelle, staying in the village myself and speaking to some of the villagers, inquiring to their health.

"You know what the worst thing is?" I grouch to the jarl's Steward as I hand him a healing potion for his ankle, "It's not even the mages' fault! It's that Talos damned _Thalmor_ that's using their research to try and get us all killed."

Of course, it would be just me for there to be a secondary motive.

 _Let the man fill in the blanks. Plant the idea, and let it sprout. It's not even lies this time._

At the very least it will prevent the College's name from being tarnished any further.

After finishing up with my rounds, I go back to the college, now thoroughly exhausted and barely on my feet when I nearly fall face-first into the courtyard. "So, any updates?" I ask the duo I'd gotten to know a little better over the course of this week. _J'zargo called me '_ his friend'.

 _I… like being friends with people here._

 _Odd_ , flies through my mind, since… **before** , only Mellte would be regular company.

"Mirabelle gave us some items to use in Labyrinthian, which the Arch-Mage gave to her." Onmund says, before looking at his Khajit companion a little peeved. "Also, J'zargo is staying here to help the college contain the Eye as much as possible. So only I will be going to Labyrinthian… Unless, well, would you… help? I mean… We would have certainly died in Mzulft without you and I really, well…"

I lightly poke his forehead. "I'll come. Once Marcurio is back on his feet and I've gotten a chance to clean up and rest."

The teen – _a boy, really, just a boy compared to what I've seen, what I've_ _ **done**_ _–_ pouts. I summarily ignore the sharp pang of hurt in my chest. "But I…"

I let out a deep sigh, giving him a tired grin. "The Staff will still be there when we get there, trust me. Right now, we all need to sleep. Can Marcurio and I stay here for the night? I'll sleep on the ground if I have to as long as I get a tub with warm water and a bit of soap, and I'm not hauling an unconscious mage over that disaster you folks call a bridge."

"That can be arranged."

An elderly man states, walking up to us. "You must be the one that accompanied my students to Mzulft! Just as well, the hired mercenaries are still being held up. I'm Tolfdir, a teacher at this college. We can get your friend to bed, and I'm sure Onmund will love to help you get rid of… all that stuff you're covered in." He crinkles his nose slightly, looking me up and down.

"I'd rather you took off your armour before going anywhere near the carpets and blankets, though."

I'm already unclipping the latches holding my bracers stuck to my arms. _Easy enough. Cold. But easy enough._

 **A/N: Yes, I like Harry Potter. What I like more is my** _ **brand new PS4!**_ **I will have to start my Skyrim game all over, but meh, now I can RP as Fjaldi, going to Markarth straight out of Helgen since I've no mods yet, and, well, following the story as I typed it so far. Might give me new ideas!**


	26. Nightmares

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Canon-typical murder sprees, injuries, Daedric Quest spoilers**

 **A/N: super-long AN at the end of this.**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _I'd rather you took off your armour before going anywhere near the carpets and blankets, though." I'm already unclipping the latches holding my bracers stuck to my arms. Easy enough. Cold. But easy enough._

Chapter 26 – Nightmares

I wake up depressingly early the next morning, unable to go back to sleep because once again, I am taunted by visions of blood and draughr and battle _all night_.

As a result, most of my morning is spend waiting for Marcurio to show up so we can leave, teaching Onmund some dagger techniques to pass the time and help the boy better protect himself if he ever runs out of Magical energy.

Of course, plenty of breakfast and water is available because Onmund would not dare make me feel ' _uncomfortable_ ' while I am 'in the College's care'.

We're training in the Hall of Attainment, the steel daggers in our hands glinting oddly in the unnatural blue light, when finally, the door opens and my wayward Imperial wizard walks in as if he owns the place, clutching a steel comb in his hand. _Like he didn't pass out from overexertion yesterday, the idiot._

He's still a little wan, but the cocky smile on his face alludes to the fact that he's most certainly right as rain, or as much as one can be after being near-comatose from exhaustion.

But there is something… Different about him today.

 _I mean, I haven't seen him wear any amulets before, but this one he's wearing now I don't recognise. It's quite large, what with those golden circles, especially the central one. Is there a meaning behind the blue centre stone and the knot-shaped engravings around it?_

… _No, it's new, but that can't be it - a new accessory shouldn't throw me off this much…_

"Good morning sir! Did you let your hair down today?" Onmund asks amiably, not as bothered by the fact as I apparently find myself.

 _His hair? Oh, now I see it. Aye, that must be why his appearance bothered me._

I take a few long moments to carefully scrutinize this new development.

 _It's far longer than I'd expected when out of that ponytail. Actually, I'm surprised I haven't noticed how long it is before. It's ideal for Dwemer braiding styles… Or it would be if it didn't look like a mess._

As if on cue, the mage notices my staring at his head. "Why are you pulling that face? You look as if you just stepped into a Skeever den."

"Why would I step on your head?" I shoot back immediately, eyeing the poor comb the wizard is trying to pull through his messily knotted brown tresses in vain with a slightly pained grimace.

He blinks at me curiously. "My head?"

"Aye. It definitely _looks_ as if a Skeever or two live in it." I snort, rolling my eyes and taking a chair away from the wall so I can easily stand behind it. "Come here, let me help you with that mess. Hair is greatly valued amongst my kin, and it pains me to see you abuse it like that."

' _Hair is greatly valued amongst my kin'. Let there never be a worse understatement. Also, shit, did I really just offer him that? Why would I offer him that? Too late to turn back now…_

I do desperately hope that I'm not projecting my nervousness for all the world to see.

Marcurio deadpans with me, giving a stink eye but dropping down into the chair heavily anyway, heaving a mock-annoyed sigh.

 _He sat down… Too heavily. He must still be feeling out of it after all._ I grab my tankard, dipping my hand in it to wet the Imperial's hair in order to make it more manageable.

"So… Hair is important in Dwemer culture?" Onmund asks carefully, for some reason keeping a strange look plastered on his face whenever he catches sight of Marcurio's new amulet.

"Indeed." I reply absently, teasing the brown hair, rough from exposure to the elements, between my hands, loosening the knots and carefully dragging the comb through it.

Like I used to do with Mellte. _It's… Nice. Relaxing._ "For Dwemer, hair is a symbol of status, so to say. For example, we only grow a beard after marriage, and we weave beads into our hair of varying metals depending on our station."

"Such as… say, a king, would have his hair woven all around his crown, and would have plenty of three-stranded braids, all held together with golden beads. A simpler, similar style is used for marriage ceremonies, usually involving only three braids woven around a plain circlet to signify two individuals becoming one."

As I fall into a lecture mode, my hands gain a life of their own, gently tugging back the strands I'm playing with into a sturdy fishtail braid. Marcurio keeps quiet, the tension in his shoulders fading visibly, little by little, as I work. _Maybe he likes his hair played with, like I do._

"…That said, my father, as high ranking scholar, wore silver, mainly in his beard. Mellte and I wore our hair loose, being young, unmarried, and without occupation, but we'd braid it with wooden beads for special occasions or festivals."

"Because hair is… was, so important to us, it was highly unusual for anyone other than direct family to braid it, with the exception of extremely close friends or to-be-wedded couples… Ah, what's the word for that, again?"

 _If Marcurio is not a part of the category 'extremely close friend' by now I will eat my boot._

"…" _Fuck. Did I really just say that, I should NOT have said that..! Gods, what will he think now?_

I give Marcurio a panicked glance, but he's luckily not even looking in my direction.

"Engaged." Said Destruction mage mutters, a little choked. I frown down at the man in concern, before placing a hand on his forehead. _Is he alright?_

"Are you sure you're ready to travel? You don't feel warm, but you seem a little red…"

I ask him worriedly.

 _If he's not ready, I'm not leaving. It'll set us back, but a setback is better than a death sentence._

"…And on a side note, what's with that amulet? Does it hold any special enchantments?"

 _I mean, he wouldn't wear it otherwise, Marcurio isn't the type for jewellery… Or at least, he didn't strike me as the type._

I finish the fishtail braid with a flourish, floundering over how to secure it for all of a few seconds before I remove two of my own clasps from the side of my head, using one to tie off the braid and the other as a sort-of decoration near his left ear.

 _Or, well, 'decoration' isn't what it is, obviously, but I think he'll be pleased to find out later that I gave him a Dwemer declaration of '_ _ **Master Wizard'**_ _. Not that I'll tell him now. His ego is already big enough to encompass everyone in this room and then some._

"This? You _don't know_ … Oh it's… uh, nevermind," Marcurio huffs, shifting a little before standing up abruptly, keeping his face angled nervously away from me. _I wonder why._

"It, uh, it has an enchantment! Right. It helps me give my restoration magic more power… It's nothing, really."

"That's not nothing! It's -!" I exclaim with a grin, ignoring J'zargo's grouchy curses as he stomps past us moodily, claws on his ears to block out the sounds of us and glaring daggers at everything that moves. "- a very useful enchantment." I continue in a lower tone, amused at the Khajit's antics and a bit distracted as a result.

Marcurio just shrugs.

"I suppose so. Think nothing of it."

I sigh as I watch the mage help himself to breakfast, Onmund watching both of us with eyes bigger than dinner plates, for some reason I can't fathom, before leaving the room at a hurried pace, making a beeline for J'zargo as the Khajit tilts his head towards the Nord.

I can just hear the blonde start exclaiming something in surprise before the door slams shut, but I definitely didn't imagine the finger pointing right at me as it did.

 _I wonder what he saw. I suppose it's as Marcurio said. I should think nothing of it… Aye, it's probably nothing. They're likely just saying goodbye. We'll be leaving in a few hours after all._

…

The journey to Dawnstar, which is the settlement second closest to Labyrinthian - according to my pretty new map with my markings all done in ink, not charcoal - is undertaken by a much happier group than the one that left Mzulft a few days earlier, despite now missing a certain fire-flinging member.

Marcurio has _… mostly_ … recovered from what Tolfdir explained to me was extensive magical exhaustion combined with physical exhaustion and a minor head injury from hitting the wall, making one lovely soup of unconsciousness, during which Onmund and I both saw to it that our own injuries received their due healing sessions.

But I didn't spent all my time training Onmund to defend himself, oh no. I had a free evening, and the Master Enchanter at the College was more than happy to speak to a peer.

The library is a place I have yet to visit, to my never-ending chagrin.

I can now make items glow red whenever an undead enemy lies in wait nearby. Not sure if I'll ever use it since light will give away my position in most cases, but nice to know nonetheless.

Overall, I'm in a rather happy and content mood, which isn't even remotely affected by yet _another_ dragon attack that has Onmund running for the hills - until Marcurio drags him back by the scruff of his neck while giving the poor sod a lecture so drenched in sarcasm that even _I_ can barely figure out which parts are genuine and which parts are sarcasm-only.

By now, I'm getting used to dragons showing up wherever I step. The petrifying terror that floods my veins the moment I first hear their malevolent roaring only lasts a short time before I'm on the move – but the fear of losing my life or the lives of the ones around me keeps on haunting me every time I battle.

The scares and nearly ever-present fear are starting to become old friends. _Is it healthy to be afraid this much and ignore it?_

…

Dawnstar serves to dampen my mood the slightest bit, the oppressive air that reeks of evil – _Daedra –_ making my brows twitch downwards. "Evil is afoot here." I mutter darkly, alerting Marcurio and Onmund to the fact when they seem oblivious to the near-palpable purple energies swirling in the air.

 _Speaking of being afraid, Daedra are nothing if not terrifying in everything they do. I sense a severe problem, but I wonder what it could be?_ A scream echoes from the Inn, and we exchange looks before quickly running towards it, followed by one of the guards who also heard it.

"I CAN'T _TAKE_ IT ANYMORE! ERANDUR, YOU HAVE TO _DO_ SOMETHING _!_ "

Is what I hear when I step inside, so harsh and shrill that I fear for my eardrums, my gaze immediately falling onto the small gathering, a desperate-looking Dunmer priest in the centre of the attention of two women - one of which is yelling at him.

Before the banshee can open her mouth to further verbally abuse my poor, innocent ( _hah),_ sensitive ears, I smoothly interject.

"Is there a problem here?" The place is mostly silent, and everyone here seems to have bags under their eyes from lack of sleep, even though the fire crackles merrily and the warm wood gives off an easy, soothing atmosphere.

 _What kind of demonic entity could cause this? I want to know. This Dunmer seems to hold the answers I seek._

The priest looks me up and down, cataloguing every crack and scratch on my armour, the quality of my armour, and then my Dwemer axes, even as my own gaze falls to the man's decent quality Dwemer metal mace, bound to his waist.

 _An odd choice of arms for a priest worshipping a Divine that isn't Stendarr._

He seems impressed with me, and relieved as well. "We have a severe nightmare problem here in Dawnstar," he begins, ignoring the huff from the woman who mumbles _'severe? An understatement'_ , "And while I think I may have found a possible solution to the problem, I can't tackle it alone. I may have the power of Mara at my side, but that says little about my combat ability."

I barely resist a scoff.

 _A practical, realistic priest. Never thought I'd see the day._

I turn on my heel to face Onmund and Marcurio. "Well, what do you two think? A little detour?" Onmund shakes his head sadly. "Sorry, but I want to preserve my power for when we're out to get the Staff." I pat him on the shoulder even as Marcurio chuckles and shrugs.

"You know the deal. Stay out of anything too nasty, like a troll toilet, and I'll be at your side and service." I note that the Amulet he wore all the way here has disappeared somewhere, the Imperial not seeming to miss it. _That's… Alright, it seems a bit suspicious now._

"I've a feeling this will be as nasty as a Chaurus nest." I mutter dryly in reply to his earlier comment, following after the haggard priest of Mara – Erandur, up a large hill, to a nearby tower where three Frost trolls lie in wait.

…At least the guide of this little quest knows his way around that mace.

We're not inside for more than three seconds before I give my most informed opinion: "How quaint, I hate it already." Marcurio chuckles, but the priest seems nervous more than anything – he has the eyes of somebody trying to hide a secret, and it does not sit well with me.

I'd prefer to leave Marcurio out of what appears to become Daedric business very soon, but the man seems insistent on coming along to prove he's recovered from his Magical exhaustion, so I let him tag behind me, as per usual.

Though fighting our way through the tower is anything _but_ the usual. The smell, sweet, so sweet that it cloys my nose and makes me nauseous, like burnt sugar, makes my eyes water, and as it dispels, orcs and worshippers alike wake up and decide to kill us immediately.

It takes all I have to get my axe to their faces before they even realise they're awake, and Marcurio's shock spells are a big help, but still, it's off. All of this. Something is turning on those tiny red flags in the back of my mind…

I get the vague – _more like definite –_ idea that Erandur knows more than he lets on. His information is too precise, the way he walks through the halls like he knows exactly what lies ahead too obvious. Marcurio notices it too. And before I know it, I have a bottle of Vaermina's Torpor in my hands with the uncertain instructions to drink it to… disperse a barrier.

"Can't we just break out the wall?" I ask the Dunmer, somewhat incredulous.

The former priest of Vaermina – _and had that been unsurprising -_ shakes his head sadly. "It would take far too long. The people of Dawnstar deserve a fast solution after I've sat in silence for far too long."

Nightcaller Temple is not even that structurally unstable, unlike other towers and Nordic buildings out in the wilds of Skyrim I'd seen. One wall won't make a difference.

 _This place hasn't been abandoned for too long, no, it's too intact for that. A few months, at most, when disregarding the lack of food._

"And you're _sure_ this Torpor isn't just a deadly poison?" Again, the answer is unsatisfactory, and I growl menacingly at the priest before snapping: "Marcurio."

Large brown eyes move to me instantly, and I can see the indecision and uncertainty in his gaze. "…If I die, kill him." _Don't make me die like this, whatever gods are up there listening -_

Not waiting or his answer, I open the bottle, squeeze my eyes shut tightly, and down the entire contents of the potion, the same sickly sweet taste assaulting my taste buds. I'm dizzy when I drop it, dizzy and tired and the glass shattering is the last I hear before –

In a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, bright, unnatural lights surround me, my eyes having trouble focusing on the details of the room around me, and the faces of the men in front of me, their robes dark splotches and their voices echoing.

They call me by a different name, _Casimir_ , and their cries bounce off the inside of my head even as my mouth responds without my consent, the world fading in and out of focus, twisting into psychedelic shapes and lightshows _as if in a dream_. My – _Casimir's_ body starts to run through the temple, passing fighting devotees and orcs on the way who shout various things after him. I'm caught as an observer, the inability to move bringing me closer and closer to panic as I – he keeps moving.

I, Casimir, no I, No, wait – _I observe through Casimir's eyes_ as he pulls at a chain on the wall, releasing the miasma, sickly cloying smell far more intense than it was just moment ago _but Casimir has never smelled it before_.

 _Then I wake up, and I'm not sure if I'm still dreaming or not._

Blinking at the chain in front of my face, I look to the side where I knew there was _no barrier, I activated the miasma and it appeared – the barrier has been there since I set foot in the temple…_ Shaking my head to disperse the remnants of Casimir from my mind, I collect the Soul gem on the stand that's keeping the barrier active.

When Erandur starts talking, his voice _my voice o_ verlaps with Casimir's, and I know who he is and what he did before running, and it's like I did it, but I didn't, and _gods, I'm so confused, so tired, am I even awake? This is what I get for – worshipping the Nightmare goddess – NO. Messing with Daedra._

"Someone slap me, I'm having a hard time staying awake." I croak out, swaying slightly with the two different accounts of the same location.

A hand hits my cheek, palm flat, leaving a stinging mark and snapping the world around me back into focus – I hadn't realised the colours had still been shifting.

The alertness is like bucket of ice in my face after being swaddled in a stifling blanket cocoon.

"Thank you." I tell Marcurio honestly, even as I rub the now undoubtedly red shape on my face with my free hand, the axe loosely held in the other clutched with a little more certainty.

We proceed cautiously, and I end up having to kill the two priests of Vaermina whom I had been helping in a dream just a few minutes prior – _This Daedric business is definitely not for those faint of heart… or those without a good head on their shoulders._ Past the corpses of Veren Duleri and Thorek, Erandur starts a ritual to presumably destroy the Skull of Corruption.

Marcurio seems a little faint. "Sit down for a bit, this place is getting to you quite badly." It's true, I can tell without him saying a thing, even as I watch the mage sink onto the bench.

 _Next time – and I'm sure there'll be a next time, with how much trouble I'm finding all over this forsaken province – next time, when facing Daedric opponents, tricks, plots, and other assorted shit, I'm leaving my followers out of it. Some things I'm better off handling alone._ I vow to myself.

Of course, that's when things get worse. " _ **He's deceiving you**_." Sounds a deep, ethereal female voice, and I look around confusedly whilst Marcurio stiffens. Erandur, or Casimir, whichever one he is, doesn't hear her, caught up in his ritual as he is.

" _ **When the ritual's complete, the Skull will be free and then Erandur will turn on you. Quickly! Kill him now. Kill him and claim the Skull for your own! Vaermina commands you!**_ "

I have a Daedric prince talking to us, this is definitely on the list of 'things getting Worse'! Of course, it's also my cue to sit down next to Marcurio and twiddle my thumbs – and hold back the mage when he tries to follow the Prince's command, grabbing his hand roughly and bringing it to the clammy wood, clutching it tight to ground myself as well.

"Don't be an idiot, 'curio." I chide him gently, knowing he's about as scared as I am, which is scared enough for my legs to stop supporting me properly. "Even if he frees the Skull, we can take him." And so, all that's left is pretending to calmly sit and wait, knowing full-well that I'm risking the anger of a Daedric Prince aimed at both Erandur and myself.

Tsk. _I'm no stranger to visions and nightmares._ I think somewhat bitterly.

Even if Vaermina tries to turn my sleep into emotional agony… Not much will change. I'll only have nightmares more _often._

After an eternity, a small explosion takes place, and Erandur slumps in exhaustion over the shattered remnants of the Skull of Corruption. All his energy and determination seems to have vanished alongside the cursed artefact.

Letting go of Marcurio's hand reluctantly, I stand to approach the priest.

"We should all get some fresh air." My voice seems to break some sort of tension in the air, making the room seem a little more real.

The priest of Mara nods shakily, and so I grab Marcurio's hand in one hand, and Erandur's wrist in the other, guiding the two distraught males back to the first room of the temple, even though I want to collapse into a small heap myself, the air becoming clear of the sweet scent once we step through the purplish portal.

I take a deep breath as if to cleanse my lungs, but I find it makes me feel instantly less lazy and more alert, away from the Daedra's influence. "I think I'll stay here, to atone for my sins. I'll build a shrine of Mara and seal the portal leading further in forever." Erandur starts after he finds his voice.

Marcurio collapsed onto one of the benches the second he was able.

"If you ever need my services, I'll be more than happy to provide. You've done Dawnstar a great service, friend."

I exchange a long, considering look with Marcurio. Then: "Sitting around here won't do you any good." The priest seems confused when I drop down on one of the unoccupied benches with a sigh.

"You see, I tried much the same thing – to stay in the place where I'd lost my entire family overnight." Now, his expression turns empathetic, but I detect no pity even as he sits opposite me.

Marcurio steps outside with the feeble excuse of going to get some fresh air – I'm sure he just wants to give us both a moment to talk. "It… well, it didn't work out, as you can see, since I'm here. It starts to eat at you, you see? It's not, not very healthy, to cling to the past too badly." _Hypocrite,_ a voice in the back of my head hisses, and I'm forced to agree.

"You can come with us, if you want. Marcurio and I are headed for Labyrinthian at the moment, along with a student from Winterhold, to retrieve a Staff. Why not join us and see if you prefer wandering over stagnancy?" I try to convince him. The Dunmer leans back slightly, a frown on his face, but at least he's seriously considering it. He glances at the portal to our left, large and imposing, and the sad state the rest of the room is in.

A sigh passes his chapped, sluggishly bleeding lips from where his old friend's fist hit his face. "You might be right. Very well, I'll accompany your group, but I shall reserve judgement for now." I give him a broad smile.

 _Good enough._

Rising and stretching, I look him over properly, taking in his shoddy gear. "Welcome aboard. I'll get you some decent boots and bracers, maybe chainmail to wear underneath your robes for protection. We leave tomorrow morning, whenever you're ready." He looks like he isn't sure what he's getting into, but he's also quite excited not knowing that. _I can really learn to like this elf. Even though he's older than Uncle._

Greying hairs are no indication of skills, though.

 **A/N:** **First of all: thank you** _ **TichePotato**_ **for your tips and critique! And to** _ **Shadowblayze**_ **for Still being an awesome reviewer!**

 **Now, for some of my theories:**

 **To** _ **msyendor**_ **(sorry I'm so late): I got my hands on an in-game copy. Many parts of the original text were said to be wrongly translated from the older Aldmeris versions. In the wiki of the book it's admitted that the 'essence' of both translations is the same, however.**

" **A Dwemer child of eight can create a golem, but only a truly great warrior and armorer can pretend to be one." Is the newly translated version. As you mentioned, the original Aldmeris line is "A Dwemer of eight can create a golem, but an eight of Dwemer can become one." (-Marobar Sul)**

 **I'm not classified to draw a definite conclusion, but one thing I see is that in both cases, they claim a Dwemer child can make a golem (which were already used by Dwemer at the time) while in both other cases, the 'pretending' or 'becoming' golem refers to wearing full-body Heavy Armour, which was still quite rare at that time. I think both sentences are meant to represent the, how you say, "** _ **Look, we made a new thing and bested you with our kick-ass rare full-body armour.**_ **" Feel free to tell me how you interpret the sentence!**

 **Fjaldi would just see it as another sign to be proud of his kin and his own role as Forgemaster, because hey, they did outsmart their enemies using techniques that he's been taught to use. At the end of the day, he's a smith, not a scholar.**

 **I see the Calling more as an individual connection between two people who have the ability (like the Psijic order are rumoured to have), actually also because of a Chimarvamidium quote! "…He had been warned of their attack by a Calling by one of his men". 'A' and 'one of' both being singular, I assumed that Jnaggo (the armorer) send a direct message to his superior, who then alerted the troops. Hence, an individual connection. Also, the living Dwemer in Morrowind is said to have been in another realm entirely, and thus any Zero-Summing Dwemer from** _ **Nirn**_ **, well…**

 **Either way, I've plans for that.**

 **The Dwemer disappearance… I have** _ **plans**_ **for that, too. To an extent. Expect regular updates until April, at least.**


	27. Seperation

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Canon-typical murder sprees, injuries, Daedric Quest spoilers**

 **A/N: Late because exams screwed me over.**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _You might be right. Very well, I'll accompany your group, but I shall reserve judgement for now." I give him a broad smile. Good enough._

Chapter 27 - Seperation

Onmund seems enthused enough about the newest addition to our ragtag little group, soon engaged in a conversation about the Restoration school with Erandur.

When we're an hour out of Dawnstar the next day, I decide that their continuous chatter is starting to grate on my nerves – all three mages are involved in avid discussion, and as my own magical talents leave much to be desired, I'm unable to chime in.

It makes me feel rather idiotic and uncomfortable, being left out of academic discussion like this, and so I decide it's high time for a break. "Hey, how about we stop for a quick meal? I'm starving over here!"

"But we were having so much fun!" Marcurio whines, nudging my side unrepentantly.

"You can continue after you've stuffed yourself, Marcurio, you and your impossible chatterbox accomplices."

"…Chatterbox accomplices? I daresay that you denounce the value of my contributions to the discourse on Healing studies." Erandur chuckles good-naturedly.

"It's alright Fjaldi! I couldn't understand you when you were talking about dagger techniques back at the college, either!" I'm too done with the trio to glare at the smug blonde Nord.

Not that I could bring myself to glare at what must be the most innocent and underserving-of-cruelty person I've met in all of Skyrim.

Without wasting more words, I pass them all some dried meats for lunch, giving Erandur an apologetic look when Onmund starts gobbling his portion up happily. "Sorry, I didn't know what your favourite food was, so I only brought some extra sweetrolls."

 _Onmund likes dried horker meat, J'zargo was a huge fan of cooked Rock Warbler eggs, and Marcurio will shove a child into a river to get to a bowl of venison stew – at least, I haven't_ seen _him do it, but he's told me the story._

Food is important for survival, any brat could tell you that. But on the road, where luxury doesn't exist and you're lucky if you get to stay dry when you sleep and warm when you bathe, someone's favourite food can really help their moods along. "I don't mind. I'll eat anything." The priest blinks serenely, accepting a second portion quietly, and I smile genially in return, "Sure, so do I. But that still doesn't change the fact that I'd kill for a boiled crème treat."

The remainder of the journey goes smoothly. When we arrive at the enormous ruin of Labyrinthian, I let out a low whistle. "Not bad… For Nords, they really put a lot of thought in the design. A pity that it had been abandoned." Moving up the staircases, we're all struck speechless when six ghosts appear out of nowhere, talking about an expedition – they enter Labyrinthian first. Onmund opens the doors, and so we follow in their footsteps. _The fact that these are all ghosts, rather than living adventures, doesn't bode well for the rest of this trip._

It doesn't. The skeleton of a dragon is the first major sign of trouble. I've never seen anything like it, and I admit that the sight of it nearly distracted me enough to get hit by a skeleton – _a single, pathetic, human skeleton!_

Luckily, with Erandur's magical reserves being rather low, my efforts with weaponry are soon joined by his mace making quick work of the walking bones.

… _It's not nice to know that that same dragon cost the life of one of the expedition members who were here ahead of us, though._

"Alright," I breathe, "Alright, so presumably, every single one of these ghosts died. If we're lucky, one got out alive – Savos Aren held the key, so it's likely that he survived. And if he can do it, so can we. Stay alert, everyone. This might prove to be one of the most difficult tombs to traverse yet."

 _If some bitch burns off the tip of my_ other _ear I am going to start a riot._

It doesn't reassure them, or me, to know that only one member survived – the same one who was killed by the Eye of Magnus' power.

An ethereal voice, male, unlike Vaermina's, echoes all around me and I stop dead in my tracks – "Did any of you hear that?" Onmund frowns even as Marcurio and Erandur look all around carefully. "I heard nothing."

"Neither did I. Are you sure you weren't imagining it?" I frown at them, thinking on the specific words in… "Dovahzul." I mumble, more to myself than to my companions, "It spoke in Dovahzul. Perhaps that's why none of you heard." _I'm not sure if I like hearing voices. I'm close enough to going mad already._

As we make our way through the ruins slowly, I hear the voice several times more while facing draughr, spirits, and magical runes – though I mostly let my mage companions deal with those. The spectres of the previous expedition here also show up several more times, and the way their number seems to deplete with each passing step makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

At least I learn a new Shout to slow time even further than I already could… after facing a Draughr Deathlord that will fuel my nightmares for days to come.

" _ **Nivahriin muz fen siiv nid aaz het.**_ " _What is that even supposed to mean?_

" _ **You do not answer… Must I speak in this guttural language of yours?**_ " _This… This is no dragon, right? No dragon would be down here, right? Whatever it is, it's intelligent. As intelligent as a human, perhaps even more so._

" _ **Have you returned, Aren? My old friend?"**_ _Do I even want to know what the Arch-Mage has done for a likely enemy to call him friend?_

"The voice is asking if I'm Savos Aren." Marcurio's gaze snaps to me, "Well, _don't answer him,_ you idiot!" So, I stay quiet.

" _ **Do you see to finish that which you could not?"**_ _To kill it? Him? To finish the expedition?_

" _ **You only face failure once more…"**_ _I'm not failing, for Onmund's sake, if anything._

" _ **You… You are not Aren, are you? Has he sent you in his place?"**_ I pause in my movements once more, gritting my teeth. "I think that our biggest enemy here is extremely intelligent and undoubtedly powerful. If anyone wants to back out, do so now."

Three incredulous looks – Erandur seems to be trying to hide how much he's liking this, the rush of battle and facing the unknown - even though all his talk is gentle and friendly, his bloodied mace tells a very different story.

Marcurio is… _done_ with life. Or this ruin, at least. Oblivion knows what he's thinking once he puts on that stony mask.

Onmund is hesitant, but as before, he steels himself, that familiar Nord stubbornness rearing its head. "We're staying." He says firmly, and that's that.

" _ **Did he warn you that your own power would be your undoing? That it would only serve to strengthen me?"**_

"It's likely that he has a way of draining magical energy, so be on guard when using spells, don't conjure anything if you can help it." I caution my friends. We're almost there, I can feel it.

" _ **Come. Face your end."**_

We come to a room with a magical barrier held up by all that remains of two wizards – Aren's last companions. Sacrificed, damned to a fate worse than death.

I look at the creature held captive. Tattered robes, almost a skeleton, but _oozing_ power from every cell of his being. I take an involuntary step back even as I try to analyse the situation – "No good. Melee attacks are useless against this guy. _I'm_ useless against this guy once I can't Shout." _And aside from Unrelenting Force, I don't have many offensive Shouts in my repertoire that are over a single word long._

"It has the Staff of Magnus!" Onmund exclaims, pointing at said object. I bite back a curse – no way around it then, the thing has to die. Now, for a plan…

 _Erandur has little magical reserves, and that gash on his arm doesn't help. Onmund is inexperienced but in decent enough condition. Marcurio is our best bet, but he took a hit from that Deathlord and has broken ribs and can't move his elbow properly…_ Whereas I am covered in small scratches and have received a new dent in my armour, courtesy of the bone dragon, but otherwise fine when I ignore the stomach ache. I gnaw my lip.

"The barrier will disperse once these mages die." Erandur states solemnly, and Onmund nods in agreement. I glance between the members of my little group worriedly, mind working a mile a minute.

 _The Calling is useless against inhuman opponents. I can't even resort to THAT._

"I see. I think… I might have a strategy." _Also, I'm going to find a way to add ranged attacks to my arsenal even if it kills me._ "I'll be defence, and my Shouts can make the thing falter. Marcurio and Onmund, you'll be the main offense – he has a way to drain your magica, so duck behind me if you must to avoid being hit. I've barely any magica to speak off, so I should be fine. Erandur, keep healing spells and magica potions at hand. Also, kill the left mage, I'll take the right one. "

Easily said, less easily executed.

…

We stumble out of the room hours later - Marcurio leaning heavily on Erandur while clutching his side, grunting in pain with every step. Onmund, tired but triumphant, using the Staff of Magnus for support, and me? I can barely see straight, having been electrocuted painfully several times by _that son of a horker and a hagraven_ and also there's blood seeping into my eyes, so seeing at all is quite problematic –

So, then the Thalmor walzes through the back door like he owns the place, all gloating and condescending and all-around irritating and, well…

I sigh heavily, but I don't even get a second to draw my axes.

Onmund grumbles and glares, unable to do much more as his energy is thoroughly depleted.

Marcurio manages a chortle, somehow seeing humour in this awful situation.

Then he's dropped to the floor by Erandur without any warning, the priest of Mara having dropped all pretences of peace, and I can see the Vaermina devotee in his movements as he draws his mace and snarls ferocious as a saber cat:

"I honestly have no time for upstart boot-lickers right now."

He proceeds to step forwards before the dumbfounded Thalmor can come up with a retort, and smashes the Altmer's face in with his mace not bothering to hear what the agent may have had to say. I barely have the presence of mind to blink at the priest, the surprise I feel dulled by the pain and sluggishness.

 _I guess we're all a little tired._

I find the energy to snicker softly even as the priest fumbles out weak apologies to a laughing Marcurio, who hisses and coughs as he's hauled back onto his feet because laughing probably hurts him with those ribs.

"Let's just camp here for a little bit, get some food and more potions." I slur, using the Thalmor's cooling corpse as makeshift seat. It's a testament to everyone's exhaustion that nobody says a word, just sitting down against the walls and breaking out the water skins, sweetroll treats, and Healing potions.

We climb the ladder with some difficulty some scant two hours later, only to find Tolfdir already there and waiting. "I had a feeling following that Thalmor was a good idea." He mutters under his breath, barely audible over the spells he's flinging at a frost troll raging about the entrance.

"Master Tolfdir, What are you doing here?" Onmund asks incredulously. The wizard, out of breath but no less dangerous, finishes off the threat before answering. "If you have the Staff, you must go to Winterhold at once. Mirabelle told me to go after you right when she – well. She sacrificed herself, to ensure that everyone else could get away safely. The college is surrounded by the force of the Eye. Onmund, You are one of my star pupils – I'm certain that you can help us."

Onmund straightens himself and nods solemnly, before turning to look at us. "I'm going back to Winterhold without you. You're all too injured and exhausted to fight since you covered me all throughout Labyrinthian – don't think I didn't notice, you overprotective dad-figures. You have my eternal thanks, but I should really do this by myself." _To prove himself?_

… _Overprotective dad-figures?_

Erandur looks away uneasily, Marcurio pats the Nord on the head as if to say 'good luck'. I give the young mage a fond grin. "Make sure that that protection wasn't in vain." I push the strongest stamina potion I have on me in his hands. "Just remember all the things you've learned, and give the bastards Oblivion." He grins, determination shining from his very being. "Thank you, I won't forget this, Fjaldi." I only chuckle and wordlessly shove him towards Tolfdir.

"Until next time, brat." Marcurio says, and the answering nod is a promise that there'll _be_ a next time, before Onmund follows Tolfdir towards the two horses I hadn't seen before. "I do hope that poor chap back at that farm won't mind that I borrowed these." The aged wizard exclaims innocently, and Onmund snorts even as I shake my head in disbelief. _Wizards are… weird._

Once they're out of sight and the sounds of galloping horses have faded, the smile on my face falls. "I do hope he'll be alright." Erandur sighs. Marcurio is already starting to walk away slowly, rubbing his shoulder. "It's out of our hands now, but..." He mutters, grimacing.

"…Overprotective dad-figures? I resent that."

I exchange glances with Erandur, both of us remembering just _why_ the Imperial wizard was sporting a lovely set of ruined ribs. Then we burst out laughing, even though it makes my vision spin and blacken at the edges.

"Hey!" Now he sounds offended, too, as if he didn't take a few hard hits that would have caught the Nord mage hero-to-be fully unawares.

"Well, you were a bit of an overprotective moron back there." I snicker, before Erandur raises an eyebrow.

"Of course he was. And that dent in your armour is purposeful decoration, I'm sure. Not to mention the fact that you haven't stopped swaying dangerously on your feet since that monster died." I wince. _When he puts it like that…_

"You would both make excellent parental figures, though. Even Onmund could tell you that much and from what I have seen from you, I agree."

"…" _Children, huh? I've not given it much thought. It seems far too dangerous with Alduin on the loose and possibly entire groups of people around intent to make my life miserable. But… Perhaps…_

"So, where do we go now, Fjaldi?" Marcurio mutters sullenly after a pause, growing impatient and most likely uncomfortable with the subject, sending me a sideways glance.

I roll open my map, the mark of Labyrinthian a little smudged as I look for the closest human settlement. "Back to Morthal it is." The map vanishes underneath my clothes again.

"You've been to Morthal before then?" Erandur asks in a clear attempt to steer the subject away from Winterhold drama and children to something else, _anything_ else.

As good a time as any to regale the priest with one of my more macabre adventures. "Aye. You see, when I first arrived, there'd just been a housefire…"

 **A/N:** _ **An Hour**_ **. It took me an hour and three tries before I managed to hand Morokei's ass to him with my 95% melee-based character. Thank gods for Onmund or I'd still be at it. I should have thought twice about what gear to bring into Labyrinthian. Seriously, fuck that Dragon priest.**

 **Stay tuned for the next chapter!**


	28. Duly Noted

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Canon-typical murder, anger, stressful situations taking their toll. ANGST.**

 **MERRY CHRISTMAS! Though if you're happy right now I'd wait with reading until after the hols, whoops.**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _You've been to Morthal before then?" Erandur asks in a clear attempt to change the subject from Winterhold drama to something else, anything else. As good a time as any to regale the priest with one of my more macabre adventures. "Aye. You see, when I arrived, there'd just been a house fire…"_

Chapter 28 – Duly Noted

"You took that things' mask with you?" Marcurio asks in disgust when he sees me fiddling with said Dragon Priest mask over the fires in the inn.

It's late in the evening, and Erandur has already gone to bed. The innkeeper was somewhat surprised when we only asked for two rooms – but Marcurio and I have gotten so used to sharing space that separate rooms just feels wrong, somehow. It also helps with the nightmares haunting both of us, but as far as anyone else needs to know, those late-night incidents - waking up drenched in sweat and having to be brought back from our own minds - never occur.

"Aye, I did. I sensed a powerful enchantment on it, so I brought it along for study... I was just curious."

The mage snorts derisively. "You were 'just curious'? Last time you were 'just curious' we got tasked with finding the White Phial in some draughr-filled barrow."

I hit him over the head with the dragon priest's mask, enjoying the satisfying 'thump' that follows. "My curiosity doesn't always get us close to death." I chide in a low voice, not wanting to disturb the other patrons at this time.

"No, no, only about ninety percent of the time."

Annoyed that I can't really deny the accusation, I move to take a swig of ale, finding the bottle in my hand depressingly empty. "See this?" I wave the bottle at my companion with a small grin, "That's my cue. I'm going to bed."

We rise in unison, and as usual, I take the left side of the bed, unlatching my armour with practised ease before collapsing in my tunic and boots.

Marcurio gives me one look and mutters something under his breath sounding vaguely like an insult. Even so, he moves to pull my boots off somewhat roughly and pulls the covers up over both of us.

"You really want to smell my feet all night? I haven't washed them since we cleaned up at Labyrinthian." I ask him humorously, my voice muffled by the flat straw pillows. Besides me, the mattress of the rickety bed sinks a bit lower as the mage settles in properly with a huff.

"You kick in your sleep. I'd rather not you kick with steel-toed combat boots."

"And you _snore._ "

"Do _not_."

"Do too."

Silence falls for a few moments, only broken by the sounds of the lute and the fires in the next room. I frown pensively at the wooden ceiling, a little troubled by the things I refused to acknowledge for quite some time now. Soon, I'd have to face those fears.

 _Am I really ready for a shitstorm of such a great magnitude as the one I'm currently, unavoidably, running straight towards?_

"Hey, Marcurio, you know where we're going tomorrow, right?" Something in my voice must have alerted him, since he turns on his side to face me better, leaning on an elbow and raising his eyebrow inquisitively, barely visible in the darkness of the room, candles long since extinguished.

"Yeah, Ustengrav. You still haven't said why or what we're doing there, not that I mind as long as there's no need to clean out a troll toilet in there."

My lip curls upwards slightly, but I know nothing about this is worth smiling about.

"We're going to find a horn. And once I give that horn to the Greybeards, they will officially acknowledge me as Dragonborn." I answer honestly, even though my voice is rather dull, flat and defeated whenever I think of being Dragonborn… And the endless duties and pains that come with the title.

Marcurio remains pensively quiet for a few moments. "You sound like it's the worst thing to ever happen to you. Can't you just… not retrieve the horn? Surely, you don't need it to cut Alduin down to size? I hardly imagine a loud horn-noise is going to do anything to the bastard, if it fazes him at all, I mean… Have you _heard_ a dragon roar?"

I chuckle darkly. _But even though I agree on the value of that thrice-damned horn..._ "I need the Greybeards, even though I really don't like them very much. I need their help, that is, with figuring out how to actually manage this whole… 'saving-the-world-from-the-End-Times thing'." I tilt my head to look at him, frowning.

"So that means following orders." _Which is one of the things I hate most of all._ Sinking into a discontented grumble so as not to start raising my voice and drawing attention from those outside the room, I continue:

"The Dragonborn is meant to defeat Alduin the World Eater, according to Dwemer, or really, any folks' legend. 'When the snow tower crumbles, the wheel will turn to the Last Dragonborn' - or something ominous and prophetic like that. I'm just… Marcurio, I'm _scared_." The confession both allows a weight to fall off my shoulders I hadn't even known was there, and makes me unable to look the mage in the eye.

All this time, I haven't let myself show more vulnerability than absolutely necessary. I roll onto my back and cover my face with my arm, the words, like vomit, not stopping now that I've begun.

 _Crap, I can feel a rant coming the likes of which I haven't vomited out since meeting Ulfric and I can't. Stop._

"I'm terrified of failing. Not just Alduin - what if I get _you,_ or Erandur, or anyone I consider close to me – what if I have to bury you? I've lost so many, already… I don't think I'll be able to hold on to my sanity for very long if I lose anyone else."

 _Ma…Mellte… How I wish I had some sort of teacher or friend to guide me in being Dovahkiin… Oblivion, I'd even take a dragon as teacher at this point!_

"…My race is known to be unfriendly to strangers _for a reason_ , and I've been pushing that aside, been pushing away thoughts that aren't accepted and forced myself to play nice because everyone expects me to play their gallant _damned hero_. Truth is, I'm not. I'm not a hero. All the things I do – I'm floundering, a fish flapping about useless and panicking on dry dirt."

I let out a breathless laugh, growing a little hysterical. "Do you know how I only trust _three_ people in all of Skyrim? Not to mention I -"

" _Fjaldi, stop."_ The words are chopped, barked, interrupting me before I can continue my spiel of self-loathing and pity.

I fall silent, squeezing my eyes shut tightly and taking a shuddering breath. _Did I go too far? I shouldn't have said anything._

"Sorry." I mumble. His eyes – _like molten copper –_ I can almost _hear_ them widen ever-so-slightly.

"Wait, no, not what I meant. You're – You've really been walking around with that for quite a while, haven't you? Uh, I could, I mean, I'll… ugh. Listen, I'm not good with this touchy-feely stuff, but I'll try. I'll listen if you ever need someone to talk to, even if you don't trust me, or something."

He sounds flustered, out of his depth.

 _That makes two of us. I never quite knew 'instant regret' could be so acutely horrible._

It's my turn now, to be confused and surprised at his words as they fully register in my whirling mind.

"Marcurio, err, 'Curio, I can call you that, right? …You are one of those three people I mentioned. The other two are a blacksmith in Whiterun and a high-ranking Thalmor agent, respectively."

I snort and cover my face with my arm in disbelief at my own sentence. _'A mage mercenary, a blacksmith and a Thalmor.' How is this my life?_

"How is this my life?" The mage mutters forlornly under his breath, before promptly turning over and pulling me closer to him as if to bring comfort.

"We should sleep."

I hum in agreement, my heart hammering wildly in my chest because _he's hugging me? Ugh, he must think I'm a such a child._ Squeezing my eyes shut, I focus on my breathing, the meditation exercises coming to me without ease, which is unusual in itself.

I don't even notice myself falling asleep, having a good night's rest for once.

…

I _do_ notice myself getting soaked in muck up to my thighs. To Erandur and Marcurio, the waterways and swampy areas only come to their knees – _Why is everyone in Skyrim so TALL?_

As we wade through the mud north of Morthal, headed for Ustengrav to the sounds of buzzing insects on a sunny Sun's Height morning. There's barely a cloud in the sky, and the temperatures are pleasant, but that's where good fortune ends – since there's no faster path to the ruin than this, water, marsh, and small islands popping up everywhere.

We also found an abandoned shack, which was locked down tight, where we had a small break to check our position – too far northwest. So east we go, until finally, _finally,_ we get to a decent spot of dry land and an abandoned camp in front of the ruins of Ustengrav – Jurgen Windcaller's tomb.

Sounds of fighting reach us when we're walking inside, and I quickly crouch behind a pillar, watching the battle ahead – it seems like some groups of mages are already taking care of the draughr for us.

I consciously avoid the undead monsters' cold, glowing dead eyes and duck deeper into the shadows, where my companions are already kneeling. "What do we do?" Erandur asks in a low whisper and I give him a conspiratory wink.

"We pick off the survivors once the fight dies down."

And so we do. As we proceed, it quickly becomes clear that nor the draughr, nor the conjurers and necromancers, _nor_ the bandits are very strong opponents, and after a while, we're only facing draughr.

 _Those mages didn't get very far. Which is likely a good thing._ Part of me is also really wondering why you'd put a _feasting hall_ in a tomb.

 _It seems to be a common occurrence for the Nords. Maybe their dead like to… hold dinner parties?_

I need to keep my thoughts light. They are treacherous today, and I can't afford to be distracted, so I shy away from what I really want to focus in and give my all in the dusty tomb.

I learn the second word of one of my Shouts – the Become Ethereal one – and try it out on the slightly stronger draughr that bursts from the waterfall, actually looking quite funny when the creature is entirely drenched and miserable.

Like my pants at the moment, which are only just starting to dry properly from our journey here.

Then we reach a puzzle. I look around the glorified hallway, more of a final part of the main chamber we'd crossed several times, blocked by several sets of thick iron bars. The upright stones start humming and glowing whenever I get near them. I also can't press my arm through the bars far enough to reach one of the chains on the other side.

Pursing my lips, I step up to the first stone, which starts glowing and opens a gate when I'm near. Marcurio and Erandur, meanwhile, are taking a small break, leaning against the wall and watching me experiment with the ingenious obstacle in bemusement.

Marcurio lets out a loud guffaw when I suddenly start sprinting like a madman – until he sees me run face-first into one of the gates when it falls down when I'm halfway through the passage.

Then he starts laughing, so hard that he has to double over and clutch his stomach, gasping for breath even as I pull chain after chain to get back to them with a scowl and a red nose.

"Oh, why don't _you_ try?" I snap, and the challenge is set.

We take turns trying to run fast enough to get all the way to the other side of the passage, getting a little more frustrated every time until –

The palm of my hand meets my forehead with a loud slapping noise. "I'm such a fucking _idiot._ " The imperial mage of our ragtag trio snickers.

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that? Not sure I heard you correctly." Rolling my eyes, I step back up to the first stone.

"Why don't you do something more useful than pretend deafness? Such as if you'd step aside and watch." I start running.

"WULD!"

Going so fast I'm practically flying, I stumble out of the other end of the passage with a victorious cry. Now that I'm through, the gates behind me stay open, making for a very anticlimactic end to the problem as Erandur and Marcurio just calmly walk through after me. We move up a set of stairs, but just when Erandur wants to step ahead to take on the approaching frostbite spider, I spot the odd patterns on the floor and call out: "Wait!" The Dunmer priest steps back somewhat uncertainly, eyes still firmly trained on the quickly incoming spider. "But the spider will-"

 _WHOOSH._

Go up in flames, apparently.

We just stare as it activates some sort of pressure plate - _no, it's the tiles. A dark tile? Are all the darker tiles traps? –_ and is besieged quite dramatically by sprouts of flame that roast the creature alive. Erandur looks down, at where his feet were centimetres away from one of those dark tiles, and he shudders and steps back.

"The tiles in the middle have a lighter colour." Marcurio comments, stepping on one experimentally and, to my relief, finding that it doesn't start spouting fire.

From there on, we watch our step a little more carefully. And the ruin becomes a breeze. In the final room, four statues rise from the water as I warily walk past them. Luckily, nothing strange happens, like the stone guardians attacking my companions and I.

But what we find isn't the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller – it's…

"A _note?_ " Erandur asks incredulously. "We came all the way out here for a note?" I frown at it, before carefully removing it from its place. "Well…no. It seems we weren't the first to come here."

 _I wonder what they want. Money? A rare item? A lost artefact? Xrib's forge, don't tell me they want a Daedric weapon for the Horn..!_

… _Wait, how did they get past that obstacle with the glowing rocks and the timed gates without Whirlwind Sprint?_

 _Ugh. Not important right now. Focus, damnit!_

"Dragonborn, I stole the Horn because I need to speak with you urgently but I was too lazy to stand around and wait here, so please rent an attic room in Riverwood and pray I'm there?" I say out loud, changing some of the words for those I can spot hidden not-too-subtly in between the lines of the innocuous message.

The note is summarily crumpled up to a tight wad of paper in my fist and thrown into the water even as I seethe in anger.

"And they have the audacity to call themselves my 'friend'?! If they were, the Horn would still be here! Whoever wrote that damn note is trying to manipulate me into something for sure! I'm not an idiot!"

Marcurio coughs something that sounds awfully suspiciously like 'puzzle', but I ignore him in favour of starting to stomp towards the exit beyond the room, fingers twitching with the need to snap the neck of whoever had the _nerve_...

…

"Are we headed to Riverwood?" Erandur asks cautiously when we're back outside, the amount of treasures and trinkets we found in an unlocked chest right before leaving having mellowed my temper somewhat. _We were running low on coin, and now that's at least one problem I don't have to list any longer._

I glare at nothing in particular, stalking off towards Morthal. "I do as I please, when I please. I'm not dancing to some manipulative bastard's merry tune if I can help it! Following the orders of people who are practically strangers to me is ridiculous enough."

 _If people keep trying to manipulate me… First the Greybeards, then Ulfric, now this -! I don't know WHAT I'll be doing, but heads will roll._ "Morthal first." I say in clipped tones.

When we're back at the inn, I've calmed down enough to really think about the note and what it implied.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you like that." I mutter to Erandur as the aging elf takes another delicate sip from his warm drink.

 _I won't be surprised if you walked out of this inn and back to Dawnstar, since I keep getting you in danger and now I get mad at you for no reason, too._ He only raises an eyebrow. "No harm done. I was rather expecting it, actually. In my younger years, I'd have likely done the same." I lean back in my chair, watching one of the patrons walk up to us nervously.

"Uhm, Fjaldi du Bet-hart-s? You're Fjaldi, right? I'm so sorry, I wasn't really listening when they told me your full name – the jarl is expecting you."

I give the man a charming grin, though I imagine it may have the opposite effect of 'reassuring', what with the amount of bloody splatters still on my armour and, probably, my face. "It's Bthardamz, Fjaldi dû Bthardamz. It's alright, really. I should go see the jarl, if she expects me."

Inwardly, I scream incoherently in tired frustration.

 _I am SO not in the mood for politics right now, but I suppose that since I'll be going to Riverwood after this anyway…_

"Are you two fine with waiting here whilst I go see what's wrong?" My two companions shrug, Erandur flipping the page of the book he's reading and Marcurio taking a swig of mead. "I think we're good here."

I roll my eyes at the self-satisfied smirk on the mages' faces at not having to go back out in the frigid cold so soon again. "Suit yourself. Prepare to leave for any emergencies when I get back even angrier than I just was."

When I step outside and look at the sky, I concede that at least the weather seems to be on my side for a change. It's dry and sunny. Breathing in the moist, cool air reeking faintly of wood rot and herbs, I greet the people I pass by, holding Idgrod the Younger for a moment to tell her I'd delivered the message to Danica – what seemed like ages ago.

She smiles genially, tells me she already knew that, and promptly shoves a coin purse in my hands before walking on, saying she was running errands and had little time, but would love to chat later. Giving her a small, absent wave, I enter the jarl's longhouse.

"You called, my jarl?"

The old woman smiles like the cat that got the canary. "I've heard words of your exploits, the people of my hold seem to like you quite a lot… Rumour has it you saved one of our few remaining caravans from a dragon attack." I blink, sorting through my mind's library to try and remember which dragon attack involved a caravan – there had been two, right? One in Windhelm, and one on the road to - The jarl claps her hands, and her Steward steps up and presents me with a… _what is it_?

I accept the strange, small object, studying it. _It looks a little like an elongated bead that can be opened... Have I seen something like it before?_

"As it is, there is room for a new Thane in my court. My visions tell me that giving you a weapon or a piece of armour would be redundant, as you have no need of such with your skill set. Therefore, I had the blacksmith procure a more… modest accessory instead. I take it you are familiar with the privileges that come with being Thane of a hold?" I nod before her story even fully registers.

"Wait, Thane?"

She raises a delicate eyebrow, a knowing, smug smirk playing on her thin lips. "I would like to offer you the position of Thane of Hjaalmarch, yes. Do you accept?"

I look down at the object in my hands, finally placing it – _a clip, to hold my hair out of my face. Well, I suppose it's been growing like weed lately. And… It can hold an enchantment. She put much thought into this. It would be incredibly rude to say no._

"It would be an honour, my jarl." I bow at the waist, hiding the small smile on my face. _As Jenassa said – it IS supposedly an honour. Though I would not be shocked if a liberal amount of politics played into this as well. If Siddgeir bragged about having a 'special' new Thane…_

"Well then, it's settled. Consider the hairclip a gift. I am glad to see you can put it to good use." Self-consciously, I try to fix my bird's nest of thick, black hair. Blushing as multiple people stifle giggles or cough unconvincingly as I no doubt make it all worse, I resolve to at least find a way to brush it.

 _Ma would be appalled at my state._ Covered in scars and dried blood, with mud soaking the bottom of my pants and boots, and my hair a mess. Every inch a traveller, an adventurer.

I observe the simple, silver pin, a single emerald set in the middle over an angular star-like design.

It's… _I'm a whole other world from the newly minted Forgemaster I started out as, aren't I?_

I wonder if I can still be content as a simple blacksmith after the Dragon crisis is over and I've found out what happened, if not with my people, with me.

"Off with you now, I can see your mind has already left us." I give the Jarl of Morthal a sheepish grin and another swift bow before hurrying out the door, intent on telling my companions about the news.

I enter the inn. "Guys, I bring news: no running errands before the night's over." Are the first words out of my mouth when I sink back into my chair again, the Dunmer and the Imperial still in the same positions I left them in.

"You have more good news, I take it?" Erandur chuckles when I promptly wave for some drinks.

"I'm Thane of Hjaalmarch now."

Marcurio clasps me on the back in congratulations even as Erandur's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. "You have my congratulations." I give them a beaming grin, before souring a little again. "Oh, and we're headed out to Falkreath tomorrow… whenever we're all awake and alert, that is."


	29. Like a Whisper

**NOTE: Similar to my opinion of general Quest timing, I believe that Daedric Quests taking place only after certain other quests or levels or whatever aren't realistic.**

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): MORE DAEDRA BECAUSE DAEDRIC PRINCES FASCINATE ME**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _Oh, and we're headed out to Falkreath tomorrow… whenever we're all awake and alert, that is."_

Chapter 29 – Like a Whisper

We spend the day drinking and swapping stories, and the next morning, my accursed internal clock has me up and walking at sunrise.

I find myself sitting at the bar, nursing my headache with a minor Stamina potion and some bread with cheese, as well as a glass of milk, screw what the Nords say, until Erandur eventually comes wobbling out of his room and plops down next to me ungracefully.

When he seems awake enough to respond to simple questions, I tell him I'm going to clean up. _I'm still planning on building proper plumbing systems, maybe in Hjerim when I get the chance._ For now, though, I'm stuck with a tub over a fire and a spare set of clothes from my knapsack. My old pants are ruined permanently, I can tell from the smell and the threadbare fabric. My tunic can still be saved, though the bloodstains will be permanent.

Groaning and resigning myself to visit the market in Whiterun to buy some new clothing while we pass through there, I set to work in scrubbing my tunic – and myself, since I reek of march bog.

Sitting down on a small stool next to the tub in my underclothes, I vaguely wonder if I'll be disturbed by anyone. Erandur has trouble figuring out words aimed at him in the mornings – he normally starts to function only about an hour after he's woken up, Vaermina's influence on his dreams hard to flush out of his system even with Mara's helping hand.

The priest has rough nights, which makes him fit in just fine with the rest of us – with Marcurio and myself, that is.

The soap is of an awful quality compared to the rich Dwemer types I've had the luxury of using Before, but as with all the miserable things in Skyrim, I make do with whatever I can.

Of course, it's when I'm washing my hair, unable to look through the suds and assorted dirt threatening to harm my eyes, when I hear the door to the small back room open.

I stiffen, my mind racing furiously through ways to defend myself unarmed against a threat, but when I hear Marcurio's "Oh, there you are" I nearly fly out of the room, propriety and dignity be damned. It's not as if he's never seen me in my underclothes, as I quite vividly remember the time in Riften when Anneke and I nearly got robbed in the middle of the night and I was forced to go thief-chasing.

… _I do hope the people there have since forgotten that incident._

But be as it may, all my scars, all my bruises, my whole body is on display with the way I'm seated on the small stool. I cringe, blindly moving to grab some cloth to further cover myself, not caring that it gets soaked in the process.

The mage clears his throat awkwardly. "I… Was just… Uhm…"

I tug at a particularly persistent tangle in my hair with more force than strictly necessary, biting back a yelp. _Gods, why isn't he leaving? Tsk, it's not as if he likes the view._

(Unbeknownst to me, the mage had indeed not expected to see me in any state of undress, as I usually kept as much clothing or armour on as possible when cleaning up.)

"You're never going to get that mess sorted like that." The Imperial chides, though his voice wavers somewhat. "Right. I came here to see if you needed help, oh mighty Dragonborn."

I let out a small growl, still unable to see more than the insides of my eyelids but feeling a small cold gust of air as the mage moves behind me for whatever reason. Strangely, I'm not as uncomfortable as I'd expected, but that's probably because I am used enough to him to even sleep without gear in his presence.

…And then his hands are on my head, massaging my scalp and working out the tangles in my hair I couldn't manage to get to and…

It's _divine_ – whenever Ma washed my hair when I was a kid, she would always be a bit too rough, scrubbing and drenching me in scalding water without warning me to close my eyes. Then, when she brushed, the tears would jump to my eyes. Marcurio's hands are petting me in comparison.

It's still quite awkward to sit there half-naked and blind while the man I'm pretty sure I like as more than just a friend runs his hands through my hair.

Despite my mind yelling obscenities at me and my ears burning like beacons, I find myself leaning into the touch without really meaning to. When the imperial moves away, I lean back, chasing the touch and almost falling off the stool for my efforts.

Marcurio catches me before I can make the situation even more embarrassing by toppling over, before he chuckles softly.

"Tilt your head back."

I comply without a thought, baring my throat to the mage. _Yet another extremely vulnerable position, but I trust Marcurio, of all people, not to hurt me_. _I wish we could be married so that this wouldn't feel so strange._

… _HOLD ON, WHAT._

The water flows down my face and back and I scrunch my nose before wiping it out of my eyes, blinking up at the mage owlishly, reeling from my own thoughts.

 _Where in Oblivion did that come from? I – I must be tired, aye. Just… The journey has taken more out of me than I thought and it's affected my common sense. That… Must be it._

"Why help me? I would have managed on my own." I manage to somehow utter, the words leaden on my tongue and steady only because I keep it as flat as possible. Marcurio looks away, rubbing the back of his neck in a rare show of self-consciousness.

"It's not like I haven't helped you before."

 _Aye, but then I was wearing pieces of my armour, and I couldn't even reach the back of my head properly. We were out in the open, so it was dangerous to linger too long, but I wanted the smell of death off of me._

I tilt my head sideways, still looking at him upside-down. Now, the mage backs away, out of sight, _and is that a flush on his cheeks? Room must be warmer than I thought._

Clearing my throat, I pull on my tunic and spare clothes as fast as humanly possible. I glance over at the still unmoving figure, whose eyes seem to be drawn to the cuirass in the corner.

Clearing my throat, I gesture at the pile.

"While you're in here, you might as well make yourself useful. Grab a sponge and help me get the dirt off of my armour, it's annoying when it seeps into the seams and hampers my movement. Also, get cleaned up yourself after, alright? The marches haven't been good on your robes."

"I am an apprentice wizard, not your personal cleaning lady!" A pause. I wait. "Oh, very well, but it better not take too long."

"You didn't seem to have a problem cleaning me, why be bothered about the armour?"

"The bottoms of your boots have seen things worse than that wayward bird's nest on your head."

"Did you just insult my _hair?_ "

"I don't see any hair, makes me wonder where that Rock Warbler took it."

" _Marcurio!_ "

At least the banter makes for familiar territory, dispelling the uncomfortable air between us. _For the moment, anyway._

…

The journey down to Falkreath is the most awkward period of time I've ever spend travelling, ever. It even beats that time Mellte dragged my sleeping self to the other side of the city, in the busiest part of the market, in _a dress. With pigtails. Forcing me to walk back with everyone staring after me._

I'd been mortified back then.

This? This is somehow even worse. I can't look Marcurio in the eye at all, and Erandur's too-knowing gaze means that he probably has an idea of what happened in the bath stall, and encourages it. He even made sure Marcurio and I sit together during food breaks and stay close to each other while walking with some well-placed comments.

 _Meddling old coot._

 _Xrib's forges, I have no time for romance._

"Don't we have to pass Riverwood once we're finished in Whiterun?" Erandur asks, watching a few elks as they skip across the road. I shrug. "Not really – I was planning to head by Markarth, first. To visit old friends." Sure, it's the long way around, but I've been planning to visit Markarth soon either way.

"We really should think of investing in horses if you're planning to run us ragged all across Skyrim." Marcurio jokes, and I shove him gently. "No horses. You can get a horse _after_ we part ways."

 _After all, I can hardly keep him around me forever – he's still a mercenary, he probably gets bored if he's on one job too long._

The mage falls into a pensive silence after that, lasting all the way to Whiterun. I can't say I'm not happy with the small break after having been paying him most of my attention for almost two days straight. _Thanks for that, Erandur._

At least the awkwardness is somewhat lessened again as we continue. "When we're in Whiterun, I'll introduce you to Adrienne, and Jenassa and Elrindir, too!" The priest of Mara chuckles.

"So we finally get to see the woman that has you so enamoured?" I misstep in surprise, stumbling and spluttering. "Enamoured? She's _married!_ "

 _Besides,_ I think as I give Marcurio a quick glance as he looks at the road unwaveringly, _I'm more interested in someone else._

We make a quick stop at the Khajit caravan, where I trade some of the items we'd plucked from bandits and creatures along the way for food and mead.

"Be cautious, travellers." The leader of the caravan, Ri'saad, calls after us, "The residents of the city are in mourning, it would be wise to conclude your business quickly." _In… mourning? Who died?_

Now, Ri'saad's comment caused me to get worried, and I pick up my pace, passing the guards at the gates and making a beeline for the Drunken Huntsman when I see Warmaiden's is closed, in the middle of the day, and Adrienne doesn't come out to greet me.

There's a stilted atmosphere in the air, and Elrindir and Anoriath are quietly conversing behind the counter, not even noticing my companions and I as we walk in. Ulfberth is sitting next to the fire, staring into the flames darkly, Adrienne seated next to him, her back ramrod straight and her fists clenched tightly in her lap.

Jenassa is seated at her usual spot, and seizes my companions up with her red eyes once she spots me. "To be honest, I hadn't expected you to return for another few months. Now that you're here, you may have noticed Whiterun is a mess."

"Kodlak Whitemane, the unofficial leader of the companions, is dead. The Companions are in an uproar, and meanwhile, rumours say that the jarl's children are caught under a Daedric influence Danica cannot banish, and they have been insufferable for almost a month. You've arrived at a bad time."

I sink down next to her, letting Marcurio and Erandur do as they please for now. They choose to take place near the fire, their faces grim, and in Marcurio's case, expectant. _He knows me too well._

"Daedra, you say? Erandur, that ritual you used, does it work on every Daedra?" The Dunmer priest straightens when the attention of most people in the room turns to him. Fidgeting with the sleeve of his robes, he frowns pensively.

"The ritual wasn't designed for a specific type of Daedra, though it's more effective the stronger they are. It might be worth a try, if it's children in the grasp of such a monster." I nod, before inquiring to the state of the Companion's affairs.

"Chaos. They have no leader, and little leads on the perpetrators. Or if they do, they are very secretive about it." She scowls. "A murder, or so rumour has it, and they refuse to accept any help, claiming it's an 'internal' affair."

I hum, thinking about the implications of that.

"Perhaps there's a secret they're hiding? Kodlak might have died over that, and that would mean that any following investigation would bring the secret to light…" The Dunmer frowns and shakes her head, staring into her mug.

"The Companions are strong and honourable warriors. I can't imagine they would have any dark secrets to hide."

My mind returns to the first time I visited Whiterun, when said warriors did not make the best impression. _In fact, they mistrusted me from the get-go. And for that they must have had a reason despite never meeting me. So I wouldn't be so sure they aren't hiding anything._

"Either way, the children are our first priority." Marcurio notes, watching me for approval and when I nod, Erandur stands immediately. "Very well, Mara's blessings be with you all in this trying time, and our apologies for intruding." He bows genially to the group, as he and Marcurio step out the door, presumably to hold guard outside in case I want to talk to anyone before dealing with the problems around here.

"New companions of yours? The mage seems… decent." I give Jenassa a small grin. "He's better than that. I've kept him on for months, much like you."

My smile turns sad, and I look down, leaning back a little in my chair before rising. "Meaning that I'll likely part ways with him soon."

 _It will give me some time to sort things out._

"I'll try to come back once I figure out what's happening up in Dragonsreach."

…

The jarl seems more troubled than I've ever seen him – not that I've seen him much. Erandur and Marcurio are walking on my left and right side respectively as we approach. Balgruuf looks up at me, slumped in his throne, and the bags under his eyes don't bode well for whatever trouble is afoot here. "Yes?"

"I've heard you are having trouble with your children. I'm willing to help however I can." Straight to the point – I doubt the man has much patience for drawn-out stories or talking politics at the moment. _He looks exhausted. Like Marcurio when we got out of Labyrinthian._

"Well… Yes. My youngest, mostly. He's a dark child, I don't know what to do with him anymore. He's always been a quiet lad, but lately? He's become brooding, even violent. It's getting worse, and he refuses to say a word to me… I do not know how I've upset him. If you could speak to him, find out what's wrong with my child… I'd be immensely grateful."

Finding Nelkir proves easily, as he's slinking down a corridor not far from the throne room. I exchange looks with my companions – _does he have this… aura around him, or is that just me?_ Erandur shakes his head sadly as he looks upon the child, and they both stay back near the top of the stairs while I approach the brat warily.

"You must be Nelkir. Your father has asked me to speak to you." _And I'm trying to figure out if you can still be saved from the shadows hanging over your head._ I've never seen a child glare so evilly, so darkly.

To be honest, I'm a bit taken aback by the boy's ferocity. I can see another sibling, a girl, watch us from the other side of the room, where she's drawing with a piece of charcoal. Then Nelkir opens his mouth and I'm… flabbergasted by his audacity.

"So the disgusting pig sends you to bother me? One day, I'll tear his face apart so he will leave me alone."

 _Whoa, Sithis hold my heart, what is_ _ **wrong**_ _with this kid?_

"My father doesn't even _know_ anything about me! But I know about him. And the war. More than he might think." I frown pensively, staring at the child and tilting my head as if figuring out a flame trap in a Nordic ruin. _If he's still got a bit of child in him… He will like it when others play along with his games._ So I raise my eyebrows as if in interest. "Really? What kind of things?"

"I know that he still worships Talos. I know that he hates the Thalmor almost as much as the Stormcloaks do. That he worries about being chased from Whiterun." _Whoah, he wasn't kidding. This boy…_ "That he… That I'm… That I don't have the same mother as my brother and sister." Here, my eyes go wide, and I have to refrain from cursing the jarl – That's taboo. To lie with another woman? When he has a wife, or is a widower? How _dare_ that – that – I bite my lip harshly.

"Dare I ask how you found out about all of that?"

He goes on to explain about the ways he overhears everything that happens, then mentions a Whispering Lady. _How does Marcurio say it? Ah. Jackpot._ "Who's the Whispering Lady?" I ask, not having to fake the honest curiosity and confusion in my voice. Something lights up in the boy's intensely dark eyes, the first light I see in him since we started talking. _Not all is lost….yet._

Nelkir's information has me walk back down to the main hall. "Marcurio, Erandur, why don't you two go talk to Farengar and see what he knows? I consider him somewhat of an ally." They are about to protest, I can tell, so I swiftly turn on my heel and walk off to discover where this basement door can be found.

The dungeons don't lead me anywhere, but in the servant's quarters I find a door almost completely blocked by hay and bags. It's partially jammed, but when I open it, I find 'her' – the Whispering Lady's - door. I listen carefully at the keyhole, trying to ignore the coiling disgust in my stomach, before hesitantly deciding on the best course of action.

"What… do you want me to do?"

 **A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE!**


	30. Calling

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Very dialogue-heavy chapter! I've also been struggling with how to handle this, so it might be a bit forced.**

 **LONG CHAPTER**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _The dungeons don't lead me anywhere, but in the servant's quarters I find a door almost completely blocked by hay and bags. It's partially jammed, but when I open it, I find 'her' – the Whispering Lady's - door. I listen carefully, then hesitantly decide on the best course of action. "What… do you want me to do?"_

Chapter 30 – Calling

 _If she at any point orders me to do something I dislike, I will turn my back on her so fast she'll get whiplash. The only Daedric Prince – of which Mephala is obviously one – I follow without question is my White Lady._

"And how do I open the door?" I ask, once the damned creature basically tells me that her power has been sealed away underneath Dragonsreach long ago… for a _good reason._

" _ **The dark child knows of what I speak. Let him… guide your path."**_

Nelkir. Xrib's forges, I'm going to be forced to drag that child even further into this mess, aren't I – but I will try, with everything in my power, to save him.

But, because I am a little more ruthlessly pragmatic than I often show, when it proves to be a risky endeavour that might kill me, I will no longer help the boy. If I'm to save the world from Alduin, and save possibly thousands of other children, I can excuse myself for leaving this one to rot.

 _Even though my moral compass shudders and vomits in disgust at the thought of NOT helping a child. This goes beyond just Nelkir, though, and if the boy proves beyond saving I might have to…_

I lean heavily against the wall, clenching my jaw and fists before dragging a tired hand down my face. A shuddering sigh escapes me.

 _Damnit, why do these things always come up when I'm around? And why am I so keen to step in to help, anyway?_

Balgruuf is a decent Jarl though, so this at least deserves my consideration. Not to mention that Adrianne, Erandur and Jenassa would be pissed if I stopped now.

I heave another sigh. _Here we go, facing a Daedric Prince… Again._

…

Roughly ten minutes later, when I've pulled myself together, I walk into Farengar's study, still somewhat queasy. "Are you alright? You look rather pale." Erandur asks from where he's examining a soul gem at the Enchanter, even as Marcurio and Farengar pause in their conversation.

I ignore my companions in favour of looking the court wizard dead in the eye with the most commanding tone I can muster. "I need your help." The Nord frowns, blue robes trailing over the ground as he walks up to me slowly.

"And with what would that be then? It had better be related to what the Jarl asked of you."

I nervously glance down at the suddenly far more interesting wooden floor before clearing my throat.

"I need to have the key to the door in the basement, Farengar, before people die. I'll also need your help, Erandur. After all..." I give him a hard look, desperate to have the Priest of Mara understand the severity of the problem.

"…We're dealing with royalty here."

Erandur figures out the underlying meaning easily enough, as does Marcurio, who immediately sets to convincing a confused Farengar to give us the key when the Court Mage attempts to refuse.

For once, the Imperial's tendency to talk blithely over any interruptions works out in my favour.

Once I hold the small, innocuous little thing, Erandur and I return to the sealed door, the priest commenting on the intricate seal under his breath worriedly. As I turn the key in the lock, he steels himself for the confrontation, charging the Expulsion Ritual spell in both hands.

"Ready?" I ask him somewhat nervously, remembering Vaermina's anger all too well.

"As I will ever be, friend."

What happened next will never, as far as I or Erandur are concerned, _ever_ leave the walls of that barren chamber. Or so we decide before moving towards the Jarl's throne room on unsteady legs.

"Never again." I curse under my breath. "Why do all the Daedra I meet want me to murder whoever happens to be conveniently nearby? Never again will I bring anyone I know within the grasp of one of those absolute bastards." Exhausion seems to settle deep inside me, draining me of all energy. Mephala was strong. It will take a while to recover from her.

"Hmph. You may not get the choice. You've not the skills to perform the Expulsion Ritual, only I do. Or, if Marcurio were to make up his mind as to which Divine he favours most, he might be able to be taught… I suppose. It's quite a delicate piece of magic."

I bite my lip, worrying it between my teeth.

"Speaking of Marcurio…"

The Dunmer's eyes swivel to me immediately, sensing the shift in mood. His dark eyes gleam, but I don't notice as I'm barely paying attention to the table I stopped to stare at, lost in thought.

"Could you stop trying to get us together?" The priest of Mara seems almost mortally offended at that, and I cut him off quickly before he can go on a spiel about 'gifts of love' or whatever it is priests of Mara rant about.

"I'm serious. It's… I'm not looking for any romantic relations right now, least of all for someone who sees me as some child and not… in that way. Besides, we're both guys. My culture doesn't condone a union of those of the same sex, as Logic determined that as they can't bear children, and so there's no point to it. Also, I need to beat Alduin before I can even think of..!"

A pause as I make an involuntary sound of frustration.

"I can't be with anyone! I could die because of that black-scaled bastard, or any other dragon targeting me! Not to mention I'm pretty sure I've made some powerful enemies, and that I'll make many more for the next few months to come. Being with him…"

My voice breaks. _Don't be such a baby. It's not like a Time-traveling, out-of-place Dwemer like me deserves to be loved, anyway. Hah, Marcurio still never said he believes I'm a Dwemer in the first place! Besides…_

"I would _never_ ," I stress in a low voice, keeping my gaze on the perplexed Dunmer priest, "I would _never,_ paint a target on the back of someone I love like that. So please. Leave it alone."

I'm outright begging, and my pride is hating me for it, further driving pain into my heart like the thrust of a knife. _I wonder if my pride is a result of all those Dragon Souls or because I'm a Dwemer. Ugh, what am I thinking? Regardless of where it comes from, I wish I didn't have to choke on it so often._

I'm very lucky that the servants are off elsewhere, and that the kitchens are deserted as mealtime is in a few hours. It gives the illusion of privacy, as long as we keep our voices down. Again refusing to give my friend a word in edgewise, since I prefer to cling to the idea that I've made up my mind on the issue – _I haven't –_ I continue:

"It's good enough that I can see and talk to him." _It's really not. Gods, what I wouldn't give for some sleep right now._

"For now, we should inform the Jarl that Mephala's artefact has been banished. It doesn't solve the problem of the children though, and as the seals on the door broke when we opened it, we might even have given the bitch a stronger hold on the people here. We need to ensure there won't be any more problems."

Erandur observes me quietly for what feels like an eternity, the aging Dunmer's eyes showing an odd sort of contemplative, resigned misery, belying his experiences.

"I had no idea that you had given the two of you so much thought, and for that you have my sincere apologies. As a priest of Mara, I cannot accept your decision, not when Marcurio and you are so obviously..." He stops mid-sentence, shaking his head with a rueful sigh before meeting my pleasing eyes.

"But as your friend, I can… Respect your choice. I will cease my actions."

 _I'm not relieved. How strange, I had definitely thought I would be._

"Thank you, Erandur. It means a lot to me."

"I can tell." The priest mutters dryly, walking off towards the Jarl's throne room. "Speaking of which, I shall see what our resident Imperial troublemaker is up to. I believe you should be the one to inform the Jarl and decide on the next course of action."

And just like that, he's gone, and I'm left alone in the middle of the Dragonsreach kitchens, surrounded by leeks, potatoes and different sorts of meat.

I look around myself, as if to make sure I'm actually alone. I could swear I just heard –

There it is again!

Voices. Low, whispering, high-pitched. I give the room another once-over, before quickly leaving the place.

I have three unruly brats to locate.

…

"How was I supposed to know he'd get rid of the Whispering Lady? She _told_ me to get the wanderer to her!" I hear Nelkir exclaim angrily as I crack open the door leading to the bedroom belonging to Balgruuf's brother Hrongar.

"Well she never told _me_ anything of the sort, Skeever-butt." A girl's voice drifts towards me, hushed.

"Don't call me that!"

"Well we can't call you our little brother now can we? You're not, after all. Mom didn't have you." Sounds the other one of Balgruuf's sons, whose name escapes me for the moment.

I find myself with two different options here. One: I barge into the room and demand the children confess what they're doing or planning. Two: I wait and listen in like the supposedly sneaky person I am.

 _Option two then, who knows what I might learn. They're still children at the end of the day, so I can't be too hasty._

"Anyway, you're lucky we're not here to discuss your whore of a mother." The girl drawls shrewdly. "We're here to see what to do about our… _beloved_ father." If I hadn't already been doubting those kids were alright, I would have started now. I hadn't even known anyone – _a child, no les_ s – could inject so much venom and disgust in the words 'beloved father'.

 _This is starting to look… Dangerous. For Balgruuf, that is. Much as I hate to admit that children can be so depraved as to maybe…_

"I still say we use that poison you stole from Farengar." The eldest boy grumbles, and I can just barely see him cross his arms with a scowl at his sister.

"Well, _I_ am smarter than you, and _I_ say that Farengar is far too busy with dragons like some three-year-old to make proper poisons. It's not strong enough, I think."

Standing, or well, kneeling, completely frozen outside the door with wide eyes, I wonder where all the guards went – that they have never heard these children speak of, quite possibly…

Nelkir pipes up hesitantly: "Uh, guys? That filthy pig likes you two more than he likes me, if he ever did at all. Why don't you go up to him while he's asleep, claim you have, I don't know, a nightmare about Kodlak, maybe? The pathetic weakling will surely believe that, he's been crying about it, I could hear him snivel last night."

A pause. Then the girl pipes up again: "Well, this Skeever-hole of a city could use someone else, like uncle Hrongar, to sit on the throne, don't you think?"

Agreeing noises.

"So we go up to him with a dagger and stab him after giving him a hug? Nelkir, I didn't know you were so cunning! Must have been that snakeskin of a mother you had!"

I hear shuffling, and see the children get up. Hurriedly, I stand up straight, crossing my arms glaring intently at the door, feeling a wave of dizziness sweep over me. _This is worse than I thought. And I'm not just talking about my exhaustion._

Form inside, I still hear muffled voices, barely loud enough for even my sensitive elven ears to understand.

" _So, tonight then?_ " Nelkir.

" _Yeah. I'll do it. For the Whispering Lady."_ The girl.

" _For the Whispering Lady."_ The other two voices echo solemnly, and then the oldest child opens the door as if he just wandered into the room to look for taffy treats. Almost comically slowly, he looks at my armoured chest, before his head tilts back until he can look me in the eye.

I let a cocky, dangerous smirk crawl onto my face as I spot the panic growing on the boy's previously arrogant, smug little mug. When the other two children come up behind him to see what the fuss is about, I can't help but exaggerate a bit, looming darkly over the kids with a death glare usually reserved for enemies. Perhaps it will teach them a small life lesson on biting off more than you can chew – or at least about being discreet when discussing patricide.

Still grinning, I purr darkly:

" _Going somewhere_?"

…

I have never been more thankful to carry around what Marcurio calls 'useless junk' in my pack. Like a length of rope to bind the children together.

"GUARDS!"

A scrambling noise in the distance, followed by the clattering sound of things falling over and muffled curses before a guard in full Whiterun uniform runs up to me, clutching a sword as if preparing to attack. Then he sees the Jarl's children, glowering and grumbling and tied up like common criminals.

"What is the meaning of this?"

I sigh. "Go get the Jarl. And my friends. _Now_."

"I don't follow orders from a milk drinker like you! Unhand the Jarl's children at once!"

Rolling my eyes and suddenly overcome with the urge to bash the man's head in, I snarl at the man in frustration. _If everyone would just listen to me, I can still be in time for dinner at Adrianne's._

"You will follow orders from the Dragonborn, won't you? Get. Balgruuf. _Now_. Or I will take these three terrors into the main Hall and cause a ruckus big enough to be the talk of Whiterun for _years._ Naturally, everyone will be most informed it was because this _one guard_ was sleeping at his post. Go."

He goes.

For the second time today, I am held at sword point with an angry Whiterun resident yelling "What is the meaning of this?" at the same tone of voice one would ask a thief where their life savings went. _Very pissed off._

The only difference is that this time, it's not any random guard but the Jarl of Whiterun yelling, and he's brought an entourage. Irileth's sword shifts at my throat, poking it but not harshly enough to cut. Yet. A clear warning that my next words could be the last.

I force away the stray thought that it would be a relief if she killed me. _I have too many tasks that still need doing._

Marcurio is white as a sheet, eyes trained on the Dunmer Housecarl and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Erandur is stoically staring down the children, who shift guiltily under his heavy, wise gaze. The Jarl himself just looks tired and a little mad at me, but not to the point of instant murder, so that's fine.

"Jarl Balgruuf." I begin, swallowing as the sword draws a thin red line across my Adam's apple. It stings, but I force myself to ignore it once more. "Your children are in need of spiritual cleansing. Their minds have been severely corrupted by Mephala, whom, may I add, you have not thought to remove to a location far, far _away from impressionable children_ years ago _._ "

A brief pause as the blade retreats a little before Irileth snarls. "Such insult to the Jarl is -"

"Irileth." There's a sharpness in those tired eyes now. Dulled by the man's slumped stature, it does not make him any less intimidating. Jarl Balgruuf finally looks the part again, more alert then I've seen him since arriving here. _Finally._

He turns his full attention to me. "That is a heavy accusation, Dragonborn. The Ebony Blade was sealed away, centuries ago. The seal should have kept out even the strongest of her whispers."

"Not necessarily." Erandur steps in, keeping his usual soothing voice and composure as he runs a hand to smoothen out his priest robes. "Mephala feeds on dissent, disloyalty, secrecy, plots. With the war and more… recent developments, I can imagine that She has grown powerful enough to whisper through even the seal we found on the door. As a priest, I sense Daedric power clinging to the children. It would be best to bring them to the Temple of Kynareth as soon as possible, as I could use help of another goddess to ensure no harm befalls their souls in the process."

The Jarl frowns deeply. "The people of Whiterun will start talking if they see my children and I visit the temple." I step away from Irileth and up to the Jarl, ignoring her angry exclamation to whisper in the man's ear.

"I heard some worrying discussions between your children. I fear you have two options: face the rumours or face death." He gnashes his teeth together harshly, staring his children down.

I meet the Jarl's eyes, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as he first glances to his children. "All I ask for now is that you trust me."

"My trust is not easily given." He reminds me gravely, and I nod solemnly. Marcurio lets out a sharp hiss.

"For gods' sake, can you not make up your mind? Will all due respect, Jarl Balgruuf, your children would not have been in this mess if you'd given them the attention and love they needed in the first place!" The Imperial's voice cracks with emotion, and I can sense a long story behind the fevered words.

 _Did his parents wrong him?_ I spot Erandur giving the man a worried look from the corner of my eye even as Marcurio and Balgruuf engage in a glaring contest. An unheard conversation seems to pass between them, only in subtle shifting of the look in their eyes. It's… highly unnerving.

"…Very well. Guards, ensure my children do not get harmed on the way. We will visit the temple right now. I seek an end to this madness, and for now, I am willing to follow your scheme, Dragonborn. I trust Proventus and Irileth can take care of my hold for a few minutes."

I glance at the jarl as we walk down the steps towards the exit side by side. "My jarl… Before we commence, I believe you deserve to know exactly what you are getting your children into." I then, cautiously, outline the ritual to him as I've seen Erandur perform it. _I wonder if it will even have any effect on Nelkir. He was the first one that got involved, and he's the youngest, also. His thoughts will not be as protected as those of his siblings._

 _There is one thing though… Ma would have straight up murdered me for even considering to aid with an exorcism on another sentient being. A child, no less. To make sure that, wherever she is, she will not think of me too harshly, I must receive due punishment._

"In Dwemer culture, trying any sort of exorcism on the not yet fully developed mind of a child is the most severe of taboos, and a heavy penalty is paid by the aggressor as it _will_ leave lasting marks on your son. But… My culture is gone forever, and my people are no more. They cannot pass judgement, but you are free to demand compensation in any form after Erandur has performed the ritual, as he is doing so on my behest. You may even demand my life, and I will give it… For my own peace of mind, make _me_ pay the price for doing this."

He gives me a long, heavy look, and now I finally see more than the tired, mortal man who is always stressed and worried. I see the jarl, strong, proud, judging fairly, and doing what he believes is best for those around him.

I should have seen the near-paralysing sensation of relief coming before it washed over me like a tidal wave. _There's the Jarl I first met, all those months ago. He's back._

When we finally reach the temple, I let the jarl speak to Danica, even as Erandur stands off to the side, preparing himself and the priestess for the cleansing.

Frothar and Dagny, which I now know are the names of the two oldest children, each take about ten minutes of careful chanting while the bound child sits in the central part of the temple. The brats are much calmer afterwards, and both confess to having felt weird and sick for weeks, but they didn't trust anyone enough to tell them, somehow. They're dismissed back to Dragonsreach right after, since there's no need to show them what became of their little brother.

 _Sounds like the Prince that plays with the bonds between people, all right. Now, it's Nelkir's turn._

…Easier said than done.

As I'd feared, but refused to think about, no matter how much the two priests try, they cannot rid the angry boy of the dark influence of Mephala. He's been listening to the Whispering Lady the longest, and with his past, has had more reason to embrace the Daedra's influence.

"What can we do now?" Comes Marcurio's question after half an hour of work hasn't produced any results with the boy, Danica and Erandur being forced to take a break and some potions.

"He is a dark child. I doubt the cleansing will help him much." Danica sighs mournfully, quickly averting her eyes when Nelkir snarls at her.

"There's nothing wrong with me! Let me go at once! The Whispering Lady will kill all of you, I swear she will!"

I snort. "Boy, if I had to make a note of every plot devised to bring about my death, I'd be up to my neck in stacks of paper. She's not the first Daedric Prince I've pissed off this century."

This prompts Balgruuf to angrily ask me the question I'd been dreading to hear: "You have been silent so far. Is there really nothing that can be done to help my son? Am I to leave my child to the wiles of a Daedra?"

"I'm afraid I cannot help you here, not directly at least. He's been listening to her for _months,_ after all. And perhaps…"

I fall quiet as I contemplate it, Nelkir's death glares not bothering me in the slightest. But my thoughts are muddled rather than clear, my mind stuffed with cotton wads of exhaustion, my limbs leaden and not cooperative as I shift again in an effort to get comfortable, even knowing it's in vain. _The only comfort now would be to pass out._

 _But I am getting off subject, I am completely unfocused. Ugh, I hate this._

"Perhaps what?" Erandur pokes after a few moments of silence.

"Have you considered that he doesn't want to be cured?" I ask, hesitant even as I see others contemplate the previously unconsidered option.

The silence falls again, this time heavy, painful, and all-encompassing.

"Why…Not?" Danica asks slowly, the vowels passing her lips as if they taste like something awful. Balgruuf, on the other hand, seems to have caught on. For once, Marcurio isn't the first to do so, as he frowns at everyone else confusedly.

"If my own child does not trust me, why would he wish to leave the embrace of the one who told him things I should have explained years ago?" Balgruuf sighs. And under the scrutinizing gazes of everyone else, the Jarl walks up to his son and kneels, drawing the boy into an unexpected hug.

"Words cannot express how sorry I am for all of this, my son. You hold the same place and value in my heart as your brother and sister, and I love you all equally. It never would have come to this, had I been a better father to you three, and to you, especially. I know that ruling a hold, even in the midst of a war, is no excuse to neglect those most important to me. I am so, so dreadfully sorry, Nelkir."

The boy wavers, the hatred fading and flickering as doubt starts to creep into his dark eyes. "Sorry isn't going to change this, Balgruuf."

 _It's a step up from 'disgusting pig', at least._ I feel something tight in my chest ease at the sight, seeing not all is lost, before spotting Marcurio from the corner of my eye starting to move. Unabashed, he seats himself on the floor next to the duo, turning to Nelkir.

"You know, my parents never gave me any apologies when I was a kid."

The boy is interested in the seemingly unrelated topic, even as he tries to deny he is by furrowing his brow and turning his head away. Marcurio continues, unbothered by the obvious dismissal.

"I was a lot like you. My parents were always busy with work, and the man I called 'father' resented my mother for having me with another man." It sounds airy, as it passed his lips, but the rest of the room falls into a stunned silence at the admission, including me.

I'd never expected the wizard mercenary in a bar in Riften to have any interesting story, other than a thirst for adventure, I realise with a stab of shame at never really knowing much about the man I've travelled with, fallen in love with.

 _I never wanted to pry. He never tried to ask me anything about the Dwemer, either, even though I know it fascinates him. I suppose it was out of mutual respect that we never spoke of the past, but still, I could have asked him about his family, at least. Not that he knows much about mine other than their names and jobs._

"I was alone. A lot. I thought I would never be good enough for them. Talking too much annoyed them, but sometimes I felt that any attention was better than none at all, even if it was just to punish me. I felt I existed to them, and fooled myself into thinking that was enough."

Judging by the pained, surprised widening of Nelkir's eyes, Marcurio hit the nail on the head with that – a part of their lives that they share. And the Imperial is so calm about it, accepting almost.

It hurts to hear. _I wonder if that's why he always feels the need to break the silence._

"And then I met an Breton mage." A pause, as if he's trying to figure out how to phrase it. Finally, he heaves a sigh, shaking his head minutely. "He told me I could become a great wizard, praised me, _saw_ me. I adored him. He told me my parents never really loved me, anyway. Told me they'd be better off dead."

A sharp twang in my chest has me bite my lip roughly, and I cover my mouth to force myself into absolute silence, in case I break the hushed spell that seemingly fell over the entire temple. Even the ever-present tingling of bells is subdued.

And to Nelkir, it seems to sound uncomfortably familiar as he turns to face Marcurio's unreadable face. Unreadable, that is, too all those who do not know his every tick, and I see the carefully hidden anguish that makes me want to kill the bastard that hurt him with my bare hands.

"What did you do then?" The boy asks, and his voice is so unsure, so young, _he never should have gotten close to any Daedra, damnit._

"I confronted them. Asked them if they truly did not love me." Another beat. "I never got any apologies for their answers. The Breton betrayed me soon after, tried to kill me. He failed. I left, came to Skyrim, and spend a few years utterly miserable."

Another, longer pause. "Then some idiot decided to bring me along to kill dragons, but that's neither here nor there." A small smirk tugs at my lips as several pairs of eyes move to me, knowing perfectly well who 'some idiot' is.

"I never got that apology. It's worth more than you think. IF your father is willing to change himself for the better."

"I am." Jarl Balgruuf vowed solemnly, before turning to Nelkir. "Please, my son. Let us help you."

A long, drawn-out silence is followed by the boy's answer, slow and childish and unsure.

"Okay."

I let out a deep breath, sliding down against the pillar I was standing close to.

 _Thank the gods. Nelkir will be alright. And Whiterun will be alright. And Mephala will be gone and gods, I am so, so tired…_

The world disappears.

…

I wake up flat on my back, still in the temple, but on one of the beds, this time. My headache has faded completely even as I lazily open my eyes, turning my head to the side to watch Danica wander about the temple helping the – other? – patients. I feel empty, a little listless.

 _This little stop in Whiterun ended up being a lot of trouble, didn't it? I hope we won't have to meet face-to-face with any other Daedric Princes once we get to Markarth._

(Jinxed it.)

Danica then notices me, and she smiles genially, clasping her hands in front of her robes. "I am so glad to see you've finally woken up! You gave your husband quite a scare when you collapsed on him." She approaches, the tinkling sounds, like bells, that always seems to fill the temple with a relaxing atmosphere getting louder with each steps, to the volume of birds chirping, rather than leaves rustling in the wind.

I give her a small smile, sitting up slowly and waiting for the vertigo to pass as she hands me a stamina potion and some leek soup. "Easy now. You have been out of it for almost a day. The jarl was most impressed with your efforts. And your two companions must have told the children about all your adventures – they won't stop asking for stories now that that evil monster's influence is gone. You have caused a stir in all of Whiterun hold." Here, her smile turns teasing.

"Some have called you a miracle, having been sent to us by the gods to make Skyrim a better place." I let out a breathless laugh after taking the potion and stilling my rumbling stomach.

 _What husband is she talking about? I'm not married. I'm happy to hear Erandur still wants to stick around after all this._

"Well, I guess you could argue that the gods sent me here… But a miracle? Please, telling a friend to perform exorcisms on children? It's abominable, and should not be praised." She swats me on the back of my head lightly, with a stern frown and pursed lips twisting her face, though her eyes stay gentle.

"You have indirectly saved that boy's soul. Even if your people would have condemned you for doing so, that does not mean the jarl, or any of us, will do the same! You will find that in Skyrim, we believe in the worth of people's actions, rather than some outdated law!"

I can only stare at her, meal forgotten. _Are… Is she saying that because my intentions and the results turned out well, the risk and deplorable aspect of what I've done will be disregarded?_

I stay silent for a few moments more as I finish my bowl. "You humans are weird." I snort. "And here I was thinking that your races could no longer surprise me, honestly, after seeing how you all live in _wooden houses…_ "

Being discharged after a lecture on being careful and taking it easy, I make my way around Whiterun to find my friends. _Walking around in just a tunic, pants, and a pair of simple shoes is unsettling. I've gotten used to my full armour too much. I don't even have my axes, I wonder where they are..?_

Eventually, I climb up to Dragonsreach, only to be spotted by one of the Jarl's children the second I close the large double doors behind me.

Dagny giggles when I pass her, tugging at my clothes to draw my attention to her.

"Is it true that when you were in a Nordic tomb to find a magic sword, you ran away from a draughr? And that you screamed like a little girl while you fought it? Like, like, 'For the love of the gods, please, please, get it away from me'?"

I deadpan, face burning at the memory of THAT particular Draughr Deathlord.

"Marcurio is a lying liar who _lies_." I say in monotone, before grinning down at the girl, pushing away the intense guilt welling up in me.

I move along, allowing the child to follow on my heels, her chatter falling quiet at the serious look on her father's face.

"After spending a lot of time in discussion with my court, I have decided on what your punishment will be."

Dagny looks at me with wide, shocked eyes, before quickly running up to her father and standing between the jarl and Proventus. I jut my chin forwards and square my shoulders, as if bracing for a lightning spell to the chest.

"I will accept anything you see fit, my Jarl, as we discussed." Whispers and mutterings erupt from the people in the room.

" _Discussed?"_

" _Isn't that the person who helped saved Nelkir from that… thing?"_

" _From what the guards were saying, he isn't a bad person."_

"Silence." The single word rings with authority, and I stand a little straighter, holding my breath. "You punishment will consist of two parts." I nod stoically, meeting the man's eyes and trying to hide my unease and fear from him – somehow, I feel he can see right through it. "Firstly, you will pay a fine of 5000 gold pieces."

I make a quick calculation in my head – _A thousand gold more than murder. Still, it's a low fee compared to how much money and treasure I have stored in Hjerim, and even with me right at this moment… Once I locate my gear._ Another nod, and I grit my teeth as I wait for the true axe to fall –

 **A/N: As for what happened in that locked chamber under Dragonsreach... Let's just say that Mephala was quite happy to have the seals broken AND that her 'new Champion' brought a friend to turn into a shish-kebab. Our protagonists did not agree. But I'll leave the details up to your own imagination.**

 **And yeah, Fjaldi doesn't want to throw Erandur under the bus for acting on his request. Since 'the Calling' is a big part of Dwemer society, I figured that anything related to playing with the mind like, pretty much the entire School of Illusion would be heavily frowned upon… For Dwemer. Quite a bit different to Nords.**

 **Fixed a couple of spelling errors! Sorry, I have no Beta reader, so some mistakes slip through the cracks.**


	31. Time

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): none. Transition chapter**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _You punishment will consist of two parts." I nod stoically, meeting the man's eyes and trying to hide my unease and fear from him – somehow, I feel he can see right through it. "Firstly, you will pay a fine of 5000 gold pieces."_

 _Another nod, and I grit my teeth as I wait for the true axe to fall –_

Chapter 31 - Time

"Secondly, you will buy Breezehome from Proventus, along with any possible furnishings, and you will accept the title of Thane of Whiterun hold."

He pauses when I almost fall to the floor in shock. _Is he_ _ **fucking kidding me?**_

But no, the look on his face as he glances at Nelkir is anything but faked, even as the boy lets out a small, barely discernible sigh.

"You… have done Whiterun a great service, Dragonborn. Greater than I suspect you have any idea of. Know also that I would not offer you this title if my trust in you had been damaged in any way. You told me what could happen, and you held your word until the very end, even refusing rest after facing a Daedra! This… is the least I can do to thank you for what you have done. I am afraid your new Housecarl, Lydia, is away for the remainder of the day, but I shall inform her of her new station the moment she returns."

I let out a breath I hadn't even realised I was holding, feeling a bit faint. Nevertheless, I bow deeply to the jarl. "I… Do not deserve this."

He raises a knowing eyebrow. "You said you would accept any punishment. Will you go back on your word?"

I'm left gaping at him, floundering like a fish on dry land, even as I snap my mouth shut with a frown, gesturing as if trying to say something, then I open and close my mouth again, somewhat bemused.

"No I – what I mean is, I just - " I give up, crossing my arms and sighing in frustration, giving the jarl a crooked smile. "I… will stand by what I said."

 _He cornered me. Me! A Dwemer descended from a scholar! Perhaps humans and my people are not opposites, or very dissimilar, after all. Or maybe they're just as intelligent as a Dwemer, they just lack the schooling?_

… _It's a valid theory. Education is key, after all._

Spacing out in the middle of the jarl's court would have been a worse idea if I didn't have Marcurio and Erandur on stand-by. Balgruuf grins – outright grins at me, not that I fully register it, and he looks many years younger doing so.

"Dine with us, Dragonborn." As if on cue, my stomach rumbles. I can't bring myself to answer, still finding myself utterly floored, utterly speechless – so Marcurio steps in.

 _My hero_. I grumble inwardly with a scoff.

"He'd love to, Jarl Balgruuf."

…

The road splits off just ahead of us, and I read off the cities' names as we near the wooden sign marking it. "What's Rorikstead? I've never been there."

It's Erandur who answers even as I observe the wolves standing a little ways off, drawing one of my axes with the same ease as unfolding a piece of cloth. "It's a quaint little farming village, just up the road from here. We can lunch there before moving on to Markarth."

Wolves have long since ceased to really be a big problem for us, compared to draughr and Falmer, and so the priest doesn't even blink as he sets one scurrying away with a lightning spell.

"Sounds like a good idea. I like it. It's still in Whiterun hold, right?" I ask conversationally, already cleaning the blood of my weapons with a rag before stretching luxuriously.

Before we left, Adrienne took it upon herself to at least work out the biggest dents in my armour. I hadn't even noticed the part poking in my side until she yelled at me for leaving it. Discomfort is an old friend of mine by now.

"It is. Just like your new Housecarl is still in Breezehome." Marcurio comments humorously.

I chuckle hesitantly. Lydia. Every inch a proud Nord woman. Who looks at me in hero worship but somehow still hates that I'm an elf and she's a Housecarl. She arrived later on the day, and rushed to meet me.

Needless to say, I did not meet her high expectations. I just couldn't see myself bringing her along yet either. She was understandably miffed when I explained that to her.

"I'll take her on a few bounties next time we're in Whiterun or something." I mutter as the houses of Rorikstead come into view and I mark the village on my map - with Erandur's help to get it perfectly accurate, since apparently some of the caves I'd put down myself were placed wrong or smudged and finding them again in real life would be… a hassle.

In my defence, I am a Forgemaster, not a cartographer.

…

When we arrive in Markarth a few hours later with sunlight to spare, our group consists of four people rather than three. Erik, the young adventurer in desperate need of gear, was all too happy to come along with my little group after I went and got him some armour, fresh from the anvil.

"Somehow, I still can't believe you convinced my old man to let me go." Said teen muses, and I give him a friendly clap on the shoulder when we walk through Markarth's gates, snickering.

"Well, I can be persuasive if I feel I have to be." I smile at the boy, moving to the market to see if there were any good supplies available, still listening amiably to the boy's prattling…

…Only for a brutal murder to take place right in front of our eyes, and a stranger to push a note into my hands without as much as a by-your-leave. _I am very, very sure I didn't drop anything. Now, what's this..?_

Before I can even open it to read it, Marcurio snatches the note out of my hands, lips pursed. Then he burns it. Appalled, I cry out angrily. "Hey!"

But the look on his face – one of pure, undiluted fear and worry, has me falter. I still eye him warily, though, waiting for him to clarify exactly why he just tore a message out of my hands and burned it without even allowing me to see its contents. That's not what good hired help does – not that either of us really consider that to define our relationship at this point.

"Trust me," He says in a low voice, unease audible, "you do not want to get involved."

I nod _. I trust you._

 _I really hope I can._

And that's the end of that.

"Smart lad." One of the guard mutters as we pass him up to the Keep, right after I meet up with Ghorza for a little chat. I take some time discussing my new armour with her until Marcurio tries to wander off with Erik, whispering conspiratorially to the boy and I force myself to intervene before they try something stupid. The orc waves me a cheerful goodbye, before rounding on her assistant and chewing him out. Again. Because the Imperial hadn't managed to make a proper batch of nails. Again.

 _Perhaps her assistant is more suited to another line of work. He doesn't seem to have any business being a blacksmith, not even with the book helping him did he make a lot of progress. I was working with moonstone when I was at his stage of apprenticeship._

After talking to Calcelmo about the expedition into Nchaund-Zel that, unfortunately, never returned, I'm torn. _I want to see my friend. I don't want to go back in there. I want to know what happened to the expedition. I want to kill the Falmer there. I don't want to see the ruins that were my home once. Erik isn't ready for this. I don't…_

Giving Marcurio my most pleading look, the mage rolls his eyes dramatically. "I've said it before, and I'll say it a hundred times again – I'll follow you anywhere." I blink in brief surprise at the blunt, sincere statement that just came out of the Imperial's mouth.

 _Actually, you've never told me that._

Erik decides that Dwemer ruins are a little bit above his paygrade and walks off with the promise to get back to us after we've finished up and the goal to help around town in the meantime – after swearing up and down to a stormy mage that no, he was _'not going to get involved with the Forsworn business, nor will I go beyond the mines just outside of the city gates without telling one of you, Marcurio, I'm not stupid'_.

"I'm not getting into trouble I can't handle, I swear!"

I watch him go with a huff. _I haven't seen Ondolemar around yet. He must be doing paperwork up in his quarters, or to another party at the Embassy. I wish I could go to parties every month. Even if they're political meetings in disguise. I don't think I will ever get to see the inside of the Thalmor Embassy._

(Heh.)

But instead, I'm stuck with the melancholic agony of walking through my old home, the place desecrated by Falmer and in ruins.

Several times, we're forced to stop because my vision is blurred by tears, or because I downright break down, crying or just staring ahead blankly, helplessly. I had never seen the full extent of the damage. Two broken Spheres frame the entryway to the main hall. And I _know_ those Spheres. It hurts.

Luckily, Erandur and Marcurio _understand, and maybe they're more of a family than my friends by now since they've seen every side of me –_ **but Xrib's forges and Sait'iis** … Sithis' domain, this is far harder than it's supposed to be and it's all my own fault.

Then we get to my bedroom. At first I wasn't sure, since I didn't remember crawling through a narrow tunnel created by a fallen pillar – _but that whole event, making my way through the ruins looking for someone, anyone, is too hazy to recall fully._

We stand in the kitchen quietly, the place untouched since I left it. I can still see my footprints in the dust. Particles drift lazily through the dry, warm air, frozen in time, catching the blue light of the only unbroken lamp in the room, casting stark lines of shadow on the dull grey, cracked walls. There are grooves in the floor from where I broke the doors open, there are muted grey ashes in the fire pit, unstirred, unmoved.

Dead.

The Dunmer and Imperial behind me don't say a word until I finally manage to start talking, shouldering past the grief threatening to cloud my mind. "This was where I lived." My voice is flat, as dull and dead as the room itself.

As if tugged gently along by some invisible force, I continue, my feet slowly carrying me. "This room was the kitchen and living area, you can still see the ashes over there -" I gestured to the corner. The men follow my finger curiously, even as I'm already walking through the small hallway to the bedrooms.

"Here, my uncle's bedroom used to be." I feel oddly calm and little out of place here. _It has been so long._

"And Ma slept next door, but all that's really left now are the hewn parts of the beds." I pause before the final doors, one still partially open. The image in front of me suddenly stutters, the edges of the walls briefly seeming to shift to and fro. I frown, now daring to push them open fully.

"Mellte and I slept here." The open chest is still there, as is my nightstand and the ruined book, the cover unreadable. Time seems to slow and space seems to _twist around me,_ and I gasp for air when suddenly, a blue, translucent figure sits on my bed, crossed-legged. Marcurio lets out a startled yelp, and Erandur has already drawn his mace, but the small Dwemer child doesn't move. It's… It's… me?

" **You're running out of time.** " The apparition says, tilting his head innocently, blinking at us with large eyes even as it's gaze seems to be going right through me. " **I know, but I don't know what I want to do!** " Comes a second voice, and I turn on my heel, nearly twisting my ankle, to see the younger version of Mellte, kicking at the air as he lies flat on his back, head turned to the other me.

" **You're smart. You would be a kick-ass Trapmaster.** " Says mini-me, and suddenly I know what this conversation is about.

" **I don't want to be a Trapmaster.** "

" **A miner?** "

" **Ew."**

" **You know, you can just ask Ma to take you in."** Mini-Mellte sits up abruptly, clenching his fists excitedly.

" **She would?** "

" **Well, duh. You're smart, as I said. And you like mechanics, don't you? You should really hurry up and make a decision, Mellte. You're running out of time.** "

The figures keep talking even as they fade, but the last sentence seems to keep echoing a little, bouncing off the walls.

" _ **You're running out of time.**_ _"_

" _ **You're running out of time.**_ _"_

" _ **You're running out of time.**_ _"_

Another voice joins in, deep and piercing:

" _Come find me, Ysmir. Come find me when the Madman of the North gives you what you need. Come, for Time is running out_ _ **.**_ _"_

 **A/N: Foreshadowing, fuck yeah!**


	32. Unusual Tastes

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Canon-typical murder, death, active cannibalism, mentioned cannibalism, gore, Namira, Daedra, Eola.**

 **NOTE: THIS CHAPTER DID NOT GO THROUGH LAST-MINUTE CORRECTION as I did with all my other chapters. Might be something off in grammar or even content. Alert me if there is!**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _Come find me, Ysmir. Fjaldi. Come find me when the Madman of the North gives you what you need. Come, for time is running out."_

Chapter 32 – Unusual Tastes

Once we're all back outside, shaken but alive and, by some miracle, without any severe injuries, Ondolemar is pacing in front of the bottom of the stairs leading to Nchuand-Zel's excavation site.

Erandur is instantly on guard, but Marcurio gives me a single look and deems the Altmer no threat, instead eyeing the elf curiously. Seeing the priest's unease, I give him an easy smile.

"Go ahead. Take a walk outside or something." He gives me a grateful smile and hurriedly walks past the Thalmor, who watches him go with a raised eyebrow. "…It has been a while since I've seen you, Fjaldi." The second eyebrow joins the first. "You look… different somehow." I think about the many scars I've acquired over the past year, my draconic armour, and the dents and scratches and injuries…

 _Just to mess with him, let's not._

"Oh, you mean my hair? Aye, I really do like the thoughtfulness behind dear Jarl Idgrod giving me something to pull it back with, it was becoming quite the bird's nest."

My hair now falls just past my shoulders, and I've braided back my fringe on both sides of my head, exposing my ears for all the world to see, my hair parted to either side of the appendages. The silver clip I'd received from jarl Idgrod held the braids securely, stuck on the back of my head, where my hair still hangs loose. I don't think it looks bad at all – _Also, I went through several hours of agony whilst Marcurio and Erandur took turns criticizing the different styles I tried until they settled on this. I can brag, or at least, I should be allowed to._

If Ondolemar was anything less than the well-bred Mer he proclaimed to be, he would have laughed. As it is, his lips twitch minutely. "If you say so." A few moments pass in silence. Then I wiggle my eyebrows and spread my arms, pouting like a child at the Altmer. "D'aww, you're not going to give me a hug?" The Mer makes a weird sound, like a cough through his nose, as he looks me up and down. "You are covered in Falmer blood." I quickly glance down at myself and sheepishly lower my arms. "Whoops." _With that vision I had… Which all of us saw back in my old room, it slipped my mind._ "Well…" I roll my shoulders.

"How about I go get changed and then we can catch up, old friend?" The Thalmor justiciar nods solemnly, falling into step besides me as Marcurio trails after, still brimming with curiosity _– he's going to snap and ask a dozen questions in the next five minutes, I just know_. "We have not known each other for even a year, friend." The elf reminds me as fondly as any proud Thalmor would be able to say. "Nope," I agree, popping the 'p' and smiling mischievously. "But, you _are_ old."

"Downright a relic." He deadpans in the most absolute monotone any person can produce. My imperial companion is literally vibrating. I snicker. "See? Oh, and I don't suppose you've met my buddy Marcurio?" When the Altmer then proceeds to be absolutely bombarded with questions after a brief 'how do you do', the subjects ranging from: "How long have you known Fjaldi?" and "What was he like?" to "I thought all Thalmor were assholes, what seems to make you the sole exception?"

Ondolemar discreetly guides us to his quarters, and even though I look forwards to catching up with him after all this time quite much… I think I'll have to wait.

The expression on Erik's face when he runs up to me is torn between horror, intrigue, confusion, panic, and something I cannot quite identify. Seeing two of my best friends walk off, Ondolemar's shoulders easing by the moment as the elf gets caught up in their mostly one-way interrogation, I turn to the boy. "Fjaldi..!" He whispers hurriedly, looking around as if afraid of getting caught breaking and entering. I raise my eyebrow, before sighing deeply. _I should have expected this._

"I thought you promised not to get in any trouble?"

The novice adventurer flinches away from me for a moment, before the urgency returns. "I – I have to speak to you. Not here though, in private..?" My second eyebrow joins the first as I'm overcome by a sensation of unease. _I… sense trouble. Possibly, deep trouble._

"Very well." Marcurio's robes disappear around a corner as I drag the young Nord into an alcove. "Spit it out, what did you do?" My eyes narrow dangerously, worry settling deep in my gut. " _Please_ tell me you didn't get involved with that _Forsworn_ business?" But he's already shaking his head, and I let out a trembling sigh.

"Then what?" He looks at the floor guiltily. Oh, I'm not going to like this. "I… uh, I need to go to Reachcliff cave, but I'm too scared to go alone. Y-You see, I went to help brother Verulus since there was a problem in the Hall of the Dead, and there I met this woman…"

…

"I see." I mutter thoughtfully once he's done recounting the story of how he got himself neck-deep in the shit. "So you want to know what this… Eola… Has to say before something untoward happens? Say, Erandur stumbling upon her and seeing her for what she is?" Erik swallows thickly, looking seconds away from falling onto his knees and _begging_ for my help. Though… I've already made up my mind. "I – Fjaldi, you were the only one I could think of, I know that she's a – a cannibal, and that you think that it's disgusting, but I -"

I wave him off with a small shake of my head, grabbing his shoulder to support the teen before he does something stupid – like falling out of the alcove and showing himself to the nearby guard. "No, no, that's not it." I lower my voice to a whisper, looking over my shoulder ever-so-often to see if nobody has the idea of listening in on us, which would prove disastrous.

"Listen, Marcurio and Erandur are probably both busy with other things right now, and they'll be unwilling to do much searching since we've already traversed a Dwemer ruin today. I'll join you, and I'm willing to hear her out… IF you're sure."

 _A cannibal is a human who eats other humans? Does that also count for elves? Elves who eat elves? What's elves eating humans called? Or Argonians eating Khajit? Or is it all seen as the same thing?_ If so… I think back on my time in Nchuand-Zel and Bthardamz, lingering on the yearly **Awakening of Sait'iis** Celebration. Not that I was old enough to participate before it was banned from all Dwemer city states after the Alftand Incident.

"You're… You're acting like cannibalism is the least important factor here!" Erik whispers lowly, the sound barely above a breath of air, and I'm not sure if he's angry or strangely… hopeful? No, that sounds wrong. I cough in my hand awkwardly, again looking out of the alcove but seeing no-one. "…Let's just say it would be hypocritical for me to make a big deal out of it."

The Nord's eyes go wide as saucers, his breath hitching as he looks at me as if in a whole new light. "N-No way, you've..?" I frown and glance away from those too-big eyes, swallowing thickly. "My people had some… Unique ideas about certain festivities. I'd tell you more, but…" I trail off, giving a meaningful gesture to our surroundings.

 _The twelfth of Sun's Dusk, where we celebrated the_ _ **Awakening of Sait'iis,**_ _who brought order to the land of the death and judgement to the souls of the living. It included sacrificing an elf or human not of the Dwemer race, a great honour for the sacrifice. Consuming the sacrifice afterwards was part of the festivities, something about instilling order through eating that which belongs to the Dark Lord…_

My mind turns to the book still carefully tucked into my pack. _'Practicing profane religious rituals', indeed._

I suppose that even if I never participated in those festivities, I'll be intimately acquainted with at least some sort of cultist ritual by the end of week, I'd bet.

Erik nods, quiet as the grave when we walk out of the city as faux-casually as possible, luckily not spotting any familiar faces or convincing any guards we're actually Forsworn. "Do you know where it is?" I ask the teen once we're walking across the bridge to the east, past the mines. "I asked the butcher if he knew the place, since he has to be familiar with the area because of his produce. He gave me pointers." The blonde admits.

I hit him over the head. "Don't just _ask_ people things like that! He could have been anyone! A Forsworn, an Imperial spy, a Daedra worshipper, anyone!" I groan and rub my temples when the other's mouth finally forms a small 'o' in realisation.

Rolling my eyes with a scowl, I pick up the pace. "Let's go, in case someone follows us because you _couldn't keep your mouth shut._ " The woman Erik mentioned, Eola, is already waiting outside when we walk underneath the arches towards the cavern. She seems satisfied when spotting Erik approach, but when her gaze turns to me her face turns stormy.

Putting on an aloof mask and straightening slightly, I rest my hand on my axe and follow at a small distance from Erik. "I thought I told you to come _alone._ " She hisses angrily, and I'm forced to refrain from rolling my eyes. "Don't mind me." With that, I give Erik a sly look from the corner of my eye, as if I find this situation to be funny. "After all, you and I, we are… similar. Erik was lucky he came to me first, rather than my companions." She startles, before narrowing her eyes to slits as she takes me in keenly.

"Bosmer or Breton?" I huff at her, jutting my chin out in challenge. _Fake it. Fake it. Fake that you're confident and for Oblivions' sake do it convincingly._ "I do not serve the Lady Decay. I serve the White Lady, Meridia, Daedric Prince of Life and Infinite Energies. I will not judge you for it would be redundant for me to condemn another for Daedric worship of any sort."

A few beats pass in silence. "I can tell that you speak no lie. But I can tell also that the Lady Life is not the only… less accepted deity you worship. Tell me, and perhaps I may spare your life." I nod stoically. _When you have someone with you who will definitely die if you don't play along, play along._ "I serve the Dread Father Sithis, if you must know, _girl._ Now, may we proceed or shall I send you to join him in the Void, instead?"

An ugly snarl forms on her face before she visibly strains to calm herself. "Very well." She then addresses a stiffened Erik. "Now, the draughr are inside." He nods hesitantly.

"Would… both of you come along?" I nod swiftly, even as Eola's smile turns sharp and wild. "Why, I was hoping you'd say that."

A few hours later, we're in the 'dining room' a second time. I had to talk Marcurio, Ondolemar, and Erandur into staying in Markarth for the evening, telling them Erik needed the experience if he was ever going to be a good adventurer. Brother Verulus was bought, and as I stand off to the side, I watch the spectacle unfold.

As I said… I would be a hypocrite to condemn the coven of Namira. My people have had similar things, after all. _I puked all over Ma's shoes when I heard it for the first time, if I recall correctly. And I never tried it myself. Guess now will be my… chance._

"W-what's going on? Who are you?" The priest of Arkay stutters as the people in the room pause their conversations to join me in my watching – they haven't noticed me yet, since I snuck in after Erik to stand near the draughr sarcophaguses. Speaking of Erik, he looks quite ill, I hope he won't be sick before the party even starts.

I lean back more comfortably against the wall as the teen catches my eye. His pleading eyes give me reason to give him a reassuring smile, and to my surprise, it appears to calm him.

"Priest of Arkay, I'm your friend." Eola says, shrouded in Daedric energy. _Hypnotism? Smart._ "You're my… friend." Verulus echoes, his voice lilting slightly at the end.

"Yes. I'm your friend. And I've invited you to dinner." Eola gives her most mesmerising smile, and I see Erik get antsy again as the priest once more echoes the words, all semblance of a free will gone from him. "Why don't you lay down and rest, while we get the meal ready?" The cannibal of Namira's long eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones, the perfect picture of innocence even in her hide armour.

"Come with me, our feast is about to begin." She orders Erik as brother Verulus starts to walk towards the altar at the end of the room with purposeful, if dragging, steps. I follow him and Eola slowly, walking past the table holding the dinner guests – one of which I recognise as the Markarth butcher.

 _Erik you lucky little bastard._

Once Eola and Erik are both standing over the blood-covered altar, apparently called 'Namira's table', the cannibal woman smiles at the teenage adventurer. "Go ahead. Carve."

 _It's almost sad that he got into this so soon after leaving his house – but the Lady Decay will protect him, should he choose her… Or if she chooses him._ Erik draws his Steel dagger, and, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, strikes.

Verulus lets out a single, sad croaking sound before his soul leaves his body, leaving Erik to stare down at the corpse, looking a little green. "He looks so… sweet." Eola comments, before urging: "Go ahead, have the first bite." Seeing the teen's hesitation and nausea, but also that he kind-of-wants-to, I step up to the altar.

Revealing my presence to the shocked dinner guests, who all sit frozen in their seats when they see the odd drunk that disappeared a few months back stand right next to their new initiate. Eola only tilts her head curiously.

"It's alright." I murmur softly, briefly squeezing the teen's shoulder. "Nobody in this room will judge you… Eat." Carefully, Erik uses the dagger to carve out a thin strip of flesh. It parts from the corpse with ease, dripping crimson onto the altar, down Erik's trembling fingers, and I can see the veins and the thin layer of skin which the teen peels off like peeling an overly ripe tomato, the wet tearing sounds almost too much for his stomach – and mine - to bear. He swallows thickly, holding it up in front of him for a few moments. Then he places it in his mouth, staring intently at the spike above Namira's table as he chews it and then swallows a second time, before holding a hand up to his mouth and swaying.

I immediately shift in order to grab him before he actually stumbles into one of the large urns standing next to the altar, righting him with a solid hand on his back.

"Easy now, _easy._ "

Then the Daedric Prince herself starts to speak. Because, of course, it would be weird for her _not to_ , right?

" _ **Mortal. I am Namira, Lady of Decay.**_ " My mind flashes back to Mephala and I shiver for a moment, but it passes unnoticed by the entranced coven.

" _ **Your consumption of the blood and bile of one of Arkay's own is… pleasing, to me. I give you my ring. Wear it, and when you feast on the flesh of the dead, I will grant you… my power."**_ And just when I think it cannot get worse I hear the following words:

" _ **Wallow in your wretchedness my newest Champion.**_ "

 _Well, somebody just threw away all chances of ever reaching Sovengarde._

Erik's grin is blinding.

 _Somehow, I don't think he minds._

I manage a wry smile as Erik looks downright giddy as he inspects the ring around his finger. "Thank you, my lady." He utters, with all the awe and devotion of a proper Daedric Champion. _I'm so proud. I didn't like the other Princes so far, but Erik and I just got a whole lot more in common._

 _Except that I'm merely a lowly devotee of Meridia and Sithis, and definitely not their Chosen._

The room's other occupants, myself included, are frozen in silence for a few moments longer, until Eola finally manages to find her voice.

"I knew when you walked into the Hall of the Dead, that you were special. Of course, I hadn't even accounted for your friend, back then." She smiles, not unkindly. "Stay for dinner, and feel free to mingle with your new coven." Her gaze turns to me, and I give her a respectful nod.

"And you… Fjaldi, was it? Of course, I shouldn't let you leave alive, since you have no role here, but… Out of respect for our champion, I will permit you to stay and take part in the festivities, as well, so long as you do not return without good reason." I agree easily, and after watching Erik speak to the dinner guests for a while, exclaiming in surprise various times and getting a small reprimand from the Markarth butcher – _Why do I keep forgetting his name?_ – I help Eola prepare the 'meal'. Of course I also take a moment to actually take a few bites of the non-human items around before telling Erik I'm leaving.

"Wait, already?" I give him a wan grin. "You know I can't stay away long before the others start to genuinely worry. Thank you, _Namira's Champion_ , for the meal." He smiles brightly, and doesn't really look like the new head of a cannibal coven at all. I bite back a laugh – _looks are deceiving, it's the gospel truth_. "Alright. I'll be coming back with the others and… I think I'll be staying here in Markarth for a while. Hope you don't mind me leaving your group so soon." I wave away his concerns. "Don't get involved with the Forsworn or go blabbing my secret to the others and we're good. They… Erandur, especially, don't need to know about the… party."

With that, I say my goodbyes, thanking Eola for the meal as well and giving Lisbet some gold as an investment in her shop. She thanks me profusely, and I grab one last bite off the table – a sweetroll, dessert – before exiting through the secret path and making my way back to Markarth alone, watching the sun setting over the mountains.

 _Today has been… fairly interesting, all things considered._ But I am to be surprised once more, because when we're all in the inn that night, Erandur has a story of his own to tell.


	33. Old Friend

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Dialogue-heavy chapter. Mentions of Daedric worship.**

 **A/N: There is a REASON for this early AF update – important notice at the bottom!**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _Today has been… fairly interesting, all things considered. But I am to be surprised_ _once more, because when we're all in the inn that night, Erandur has a story of his own to tell._

Chapter 33 – Old friend

It seems like just another evening at the buzzing Silverblood Inn. It's not, really. There's at least one Daedric Champion present, not to mention the other little nugget of news I'd just gotten:

Molag Bal's artefact has also left this plane.

 _Thank Xrib. I hate that Prince, and I'm not one to hate something quickly – well, not anymore at least. I just can't stand for the things that bastard immortal did in the past._

 _Like, creating vampires, seriously..._ That _was a terrible idea all around._

"So, I'd say we've all had quite the productive day," I laugh at I take another swig of wine, feeling the burn at the back of my throat like a warm comfort. Marcurio pouts dramatically. "I can't believe you left me alone with that Thalmor to run off on an adventure with Erik! I feel hurt, I say, _betrayed!"_ Erandur rolls his eyes humorously even as Erik chuckles a bit.

I just give the Imperial my most shit-eating grin. "You took a liking to him, didn't you?" when no answer is forthcoming, I crow in victory. "I _knew_ it!"

 _I'm glad to see that they're getting along. Or that they don't despise each other, at least._

We laugh, and then I wait, and wait a little longer, nursing my wine as long as possible as first Erik, then Erandur, and then, finally, Marcurio go off to bed. I rise and saunter over towards the Silverblood tending the bar, who gives me a raised eyebrow, knowing exactly what I'm about to ask.

"Two bottles of your best mead, please." _I have an old friend to catch up with._

When I show up on the platform in front of Vlindrel Hall in the dead of night, Ondolemar is already there.

"How's my favourite superiorly bred Mer doing on this beautiful night?"

I ask jovially, keeping my voice down as I take my spot next to him. It's nice to be back here, cloaked in darkness yet comfortable since one of my first friends is sitting right next to me.

Ondolemar gives me a feeble smile, and I hand him the alcohol without another word. "I've… grown weary, lately. Having gotten the opportunity to bask in the presence of a friend such as you and then being bereft of it seems to have made me unlearn any and all emotional training the Thalmor granted me."

Uncorking the second bottle and crossing my legs underneath me, I try to figure out what that means in normal speech, having already consumed… rather too much mead and wine for one night. "So wait. Is this you telling me you missed me?" I grin at the uncomfortable elf.

 _Right. Emotionally stunted. Don't make it awkward._ "Aye, I missed you too friend. It's been hard to find a drinking buddy who can still hold up an intelligent conversation after the first glass. Marcurio is wickedly smart, but his tolerance is… below average."

"Is that why you have to come visit your 'old friend'? Merely to drink subpar mead for hours?"

I shake my head, looking up at the surprisingly colourful night sky above. "Not at all. I came for the excellent conversation and sense of mutual trust I find so very rarely in these cold lands." The Altmer hums, taking a leisure sip from his drink before taking off his Thalmor gloves, stretching his fingers a little more comfortably. "Indeed. This… Marcurio. Do you trust him?"

"Aye, I do. I only trust him, you, and a stout woman who knows her craft back in Whiterun." He raises his eyebrow elegantly, turning his head to me and tilting it slightly, his grey hair free of the heavy hood almost gleaming like silver in the moonlight. _Which isn't me being romantic, but a fact. Those high elf genes are ridiculous_.

"Not the other two that accompanied you here?" I give him a thin smile, thinking on the things that transpired earlier today… _or yesterday, I'm not entirely sure how late it is._

"Erik only joined us a few days ago, since he wanted to be an adventurer, I offered to take him to the nearest major hold city in order to get a mercenary job more easily. If the impression I got of the lad was correct, he'll be helping out with the Forsworn across the Reach sooner or later. And Erandur…" I pause briefly, biting my lower lip and risking a glance at the silent Mer. "Promise you'll not report me for this first."

He holds a hand over his heart, now definitely more curious and attentive than a minute ago as he eyes me through half-lidded eyes. "I hereby vow not to turn you in, whatever your secret may be, Magnus be my witness." My shoulders ease, though I hadn't even noticed they'd gotten so tense.

"Alright, alright, just… He's a priest of Mara, with quite the tale not mine to tell. He condemns all worship aimed at those… not part of official modern pantheons. For that reason alone, I cannot fully place my faith in him."

Ondolemar coughs into his sleeve as the mead goes down his windpipe by accident, probably due to his surprise. "You… worship Daedra?" I purse my lips tightly. "Keep your promise, Ondolemar… Yes and no, sort of."

 _Really, you know what I am, how old my culture is and how much of it has been lost._

"Sort of?"

"Well… Well, I guess I believe in Mara, since recently, as the goddess of love. But that's where similarities end. My people had a very different pantheon, back in the day. Can't say I feel much for modern gods or goddesses." _Other than contempt for Akatosh for saddling me with a dragon's soul._

 _Followers of the Dwemer 'pantheon' also practised cannibalism once a year, and on special occasions, and performed human sacrifices throughout. Which I don't think will go over well these days._

"None of the 'pantheon'," here, I curl my fingers as if quoting, my voice turning a little wry, "If you can call it that, is accepted today. I serve, amongst others, the White Lady, **Arnknurlaf,** whom you nowadays call Meridia."

The Altmer blinks once. Then twice. A grand total of three consecutive blinks. In Thalmor-speak, that's the equivalent of being utterly floored. _Ondolemar, you liar. You haven't forgotten half of that Oblivion-damned Thalmor training!_

"I… See. I am glad to know that you'd place such faith in me, friend, to willingly admit to such a thing."

"So you're not going to arrest me?"

I ask, somewhat incredulous. With all the secrecy and taboo surrounding it, I'd thought Daedric worship was a Big Deal around here in that it was, like, punishable by death or something. Or maybe it is, and Ondolemar is just – once again – the exception to the rule. He looks at me in barely visible amusement, taking a large gulp of his mead and setting the bottle to the side, on top of his gloves.

Then, he shakes his head. "The Thalmor know how to deal with Talos worshippers." The Altmer recites in his most posh, aloof voice, the one he employs when dealing with the jarl or the Silverbloods. "Anything else is…" he mimics zipping his lips. "Not my concern. Meridia is hardly the most dreadful of Princes connected to this realm." I stare at him in amazement.

"Did… Did you just crack a _joke?_ " He chuckles, outright _chuckles,_ and I feel I must be going mad. _He really must have missed having me around._ Then, the corners of his lips once again twitch downwards, as if thinking the same thing.

"Remember the beginning of this conversation?" I nod, eyeing my now empty bottle before carefully aiming it at a passing guards head – not daring to throw, but the Altmer appreciates the thought even as he physically reaches out to push my arm back down. "I was not jesting then."

He sighs.

"I am growing weary. Of this wretched city, its spineless leaders… Even my own soldiers are starting to become suffocating and demanding, daring to order me to act against Talos worship more actively. They… fail to understand the ongoing subtleties and the consequences of such an action. Every building in this city is thoroughly infiltrated by a group of violent barbarians. They would tear us down should the Thalmor show themselves more openly. It is all rather exhausting. The other day, I was dreaming of leaving this place, and my station, behind to go live in the mountains… Can you imagine how badly these issues are affecting me for me to react in such an infantile manner?"

 _He's been stuck with this for a long time, huh… "_ Can you not ask to be reassigned? _"_

The Thalmor head justiciar shakes his head. "Not without good reason. First Emissary Elenwen has chosen me, specifically, for this location."

"Because you're actually a decent Mer?"

"Because I had the highest qualifications. In other words, I am here because my parents had sex on command and were both of high pedigree." The dry, flat way in which the verdict is delivered has me choke on thin air, and I'm floundering between laughing, staying silent, or letting out a vulgar exclamation.

 _What. What am I supposed to say to this?_

 _What is ANYONE supposed to say to this?_

"Come again?"

Ondolemar sighs forlornly. Or well, his exhale is a bit louder, but with emotionally stunted, I mean trained, Thalmor, every move should be exaggerated to get to its real meaning. "If only I could be transferred somewhere remote, like the college of Winterhold. I've heard things are back to normal up there… Or as normal as they can get. Ancano died." He actually seems happy to mention that last part.

"You… Didn't like Ancano?"

"Nobody liked Ancano."

And that's the end of that. _I'm glad to hear Onmund managed to do… whatever he did. J'zargo probably helped._ I narrow my eyes at the Altmer besides me. "So… There's no Thalmor supervision up there?"

"The new Arch-Mage and First Emissary Elenwen are still in discussion over the terms." The Altmer murmurs delicately.

I snort cheerfully. "The new Arch-Mage told her where to stick it, didn't they?"

"The true response was actually quite eloquent. Although I suppose, when speaking to less cultured beings, one could refer to it as such." I scoff again, then burst out in a fit of actual giggles, and the elf next to me casts his eyes skywards and lets out a quiet puff of amusement.

 _He's far more relaxed than I've seen him since coming here. I suppose talking to a friend can have that effect? Am I the same right now? Or is it different since I still have Marcurio around?_ We fall into a companionable silence.

 _Gods, I would have paid to see the look on Elenwen 's face…_

"As for the Talos worship…" Ondolemar says in a low voice. "Would you be willing to do me a small… favour? There is a man here in the city who worships Talos almost openly, but the jarl refuses to act on what he referred to as 'baseless rumours'. If you are willing, can you get me definitive proof of Ogmund the skald's Talos worshipping? Anything will do to get my soldiers off my back and satisfy Elenwen for the next few weeks. It would give me great peace, compared to my current… situation."

I blink at him twice, standing up and finding that I'm still sober enough for this. "Give me half an hour." I descend the stairs even as Ondolemar warns me that he cannot protect me should I get caught.

 _I have extensive training to sneak around, received from my prankster cousin and refined by ancient ruins filled with deadly creatures. I can handle a break in._

It doesn't even take me thirty minutes to wait for the guards to turn their backs, crouch low in the shadows, duck through the door after picking the lock, sneaking past the old guy snoring loud enough to **wake up a Centurion six stations aw** \- to wake up the whole city, and casually making my way back to my friend, up the many stairs, to drop the amulet in his lap.

"I… Thank you, friend. This is all I need to pacify several people." I pat him on the back, not sitting back down since it's really getting rather late. "Anytime for one of my closest friends." I grin, before yawning and stretching. "I should go back to the inn before Marcurio wakes up for his midnight toilet visit, he tends to check the room for threats and will blow a gasket if I'm not there...Again."

"That is… awfully specific. Do you share a room often?"

"That's… ah… well, uh… We share a bed, actually." The high elves' eyebrows disappear into his hairline.

"Truly? You could have told me you had gotten married, Fjaldi. Even though it is with a male and my culture does not condone such, does not mean I would not be happy that you have found someone to - "

I let out a high-pitched squeak when I realise what he's talking about, staring at him with wide eyes and burning ears, the warmth running all the way to my face and down to my neck, the alcohol adding a light-headedness to it all.

"I – we're not. I'm not. I mean, I'd like to b- no, what, I… Ondolemar. Marcurio and I, we're – not like that. He's just a _friend_!"

The somewhat sad and very much knowing smile doesn't bode well for me. "You cannot deny that you hold him in high esteem, and that you like him as more than a friend, can you?" I look down at the stone floor, defeated, my heart squeezing uncomfortably in my chest. "I cannot."

The Altmer rises and huffs again, patting me on the head as he walks past me down the stairs. "I bid you good luck. If there is anything I can do to help, do not keep yourself from making it known to me. Until we have a chance to meet again, Fjaldi. Hopefully it will be under better circumstances."

"Aye… Until then." I watch him disappear into the night, the ache in my chest impossible to ignore for much longer. _It's about time for Marcurio and I to part ways… Before my foolish heart gives itself to him and I step on the road of no return._ I bite my lip as I make my way to the inn slowly. _A Dwemer can only give their heart away once, after all. When I well and truly love Marcurio, I will be downright unable to ever have or even consider another._

 _And since I have no chance with him, as he never masks his appreciation of women in any way, that'd be a pain unlike any other._

Needless to say, sleep does not come easy that night. Or any of the following nights spend on the road between Markarth and Falkreath.

 **A/N: NEXT MONDAY THERE WILL BE NO UPDATE. I HAVE A KILLER AMOUNT OF WORK AND I am lucky because I has this chapter already written – But I will likely not have a chapter Monday. Of course, I'll stick to my schedule again after the panic has died down a bit irl.**


	34. Silence, my Brother

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Mentions of murder, Dark Brotherhood, jealousy**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _Needless to say, sleep does not come easy that night. Or any of the following nights spend on the road between Markarth and Falkreath._

Chapter 34 – Silence, my Brother

Siddgeir greets me jovially, all but shoves a disgruntled Redguard woman at me, snags my drink out of my hand and leaves Dead Man's Drink with a swagger in his step.

For several moments, everyone stands frozen, because the jarl just walked into the bar just to tell me he _forgot_ that he had assigned me a Housecarl, but as I hadn't bought the land he told me was available at my first opportunity to do so, she'd either be staying at the longhouse or with me.

I blink at the woman for a little longer, even as Marcurio sits doubled over with laughter and Erandur's grin nearly splits his face in half.

"It seems you picked up yet another tagalong." The Dunmer sniggers, nodding at the woman, who eyes his ale dispassionately.

"I thought priests were all about celibacy?" She asks, puzzled as she observes my companions critically.

My friend raises his eyebrow at her. "Not all of them."

Then, she turns to me. "I am glad to finally meet you, my Thane." Her voice is strong, unwavering, and yet… I take in her appearance cautiously – basic Steel armour, sans helmet. Two scimitars, which I've learned are somewhat of a Redguard specialty, and a… ring. A well-crafted, silver ring. Something is off about it.

Something is off about her.

"It's… Nice to meet you, too. But please, call me Fjaldi. And you would be..?"

"Rayya. The jarl has appointed me as your Housecarl. I am sworn to your service, and I will protect you with my life." Crossing my arms, I lean back in my chair. "Alright, why don't you sit and eat with us? These are Marcurio and Erandur, my current travel companions. But first, why don't you give me some more details of what a Housecarl is?"

 _Jarl Balgruuf mentioned I had a Housecarl in Whiterun as well, didn't he? Oh, right. Lydia. She showed up a bit late. She was a little… too much. Though Jarl Ingrod never said anything about giving me a – a personal servant? A Protector?_

Listening to her explanation, I further observe this strange new phenomena in my already complicated life. "I see. This must have been sprung on you quite suddenly. I will apologise in advance, since I have no experiences with having a Housecarl. Also, you will need to be informed of several things of importance, should you choose to travel with me..?"

"If you lead the way, I will follow, my Thane."

 _I see there's no getting rid of the title for now. Perhaps once she warms up to me a little, it will go better._

"Good. Now, first things first…" I tell her about my duty as Dragonborn, about my heritage, and that growing old in my service is close to an impossibility due to the amounts of trouble I find myself in on a regular basis. But the woman does not budge.

– _She is strong. In body and mind. Like the stone I wished more houses here were made of._ Even though I repeatedly mention deadly peril, she still insists on being my sword and my shield, as is her duty.

Something about her still makes my skin crawl. But I just can't put my finger on it…

"If the Nords are to be believed, you will one day save all of Skyrim, as is your duty. Let me fulfil my own, to lighten your burdens." Rayya concludes, not having noticed my drifting thoughts, and I have to admire her guts – on par with Marcurio's, the day he first faced a dragon.

A small grin grows on my face, and I conveniently ignore Marcurio making eyes at one of the younger women at the bar. "Very well."

…

 _I hate to admit it, but…_

My mind can barely find rest this evening, and I step outside for a walk along the graveyard to get back to myself and not explode in anger and frustration and _jealousy_ that roars within my veins.

 _How dare he? How_ _ **dare**_ _he?_

But thinking about what I saw, what I heard, isn't helping me any, and so I remain seething quietly as I make my way along the dirt path, seeing the temple of Arkay just ahead.

Rayya left to go to sleep, and Erandur is inside the temple, to 'talk to another priest for once', or so he said. And Marcurio… _Stop right there. Don't think about it. If he wants to marry that – that_ _ **skank**_ _, it's not my problem. Shouldn't be my problem._

Grinding my teeth, I barely notice the shadows shifting at my side. Before they can get close, I've already drawn my axe, noting that the area is deserted. "A graveyard. Such a… symbolic meeting place, for ones like us." A sly, lilting female voice speaks from right behind me.

I see nothing, aside from tremors in the air, hardly visible in the night. "An invisibility potion, really?" Are the words to fall from my lips in a condescending drawl, before I lift the axe to where I guess either her throat or chin would be, judging from where the tremors are.

 _Marcurio and I spent good money on procuring some for ourselves, back when we went to get that old sword for Windhelm's blacksmith. I'm lucky I know how it works... What gives its effects away._

"Are you… threatening me?" The unknown asks, sounding not only wary, but also warning… and a bit incredulous.

So, the lady isn't used to being held at axe point.

"I find it unpleasant, not being able to see who I'm talking to."

 _I cannot read your expressions, nor your body language. And I want to see who, exactly, I'm dealing with. If it's what I fear it is…_

"Did our mutual buddy I met in Raldbthar set you up to this, or did you hear and come to figure me out for yourself?"

As I say it, the effect of the potion wanes, and the woman, entirely dressed in red-and-black armour save for a thin strip leaving her eyes, flickers into view. I lower my axe slowly, forcing my shoulders to relax, though my every muscle coils with the intent to either strike, or flee form her presence.

 _Not that I could run very far._

"Veezara mentioned a cousin. I was wondering what he meant, but… You're like us, aren't you? Serving the greatness of the Dread Father, taking life in his name. Making yourself into your target's judge, jury… and executioner."

 _I try to be honest with myself and those around me. But aye, maybe I am._ "You're a real ray of sunshine, aren't you?" I deadpan, before letting my lips curl up in a sharp smirk. "But aye, you could argue that. Hail Sithis."

 _I do hope Veezara put in a good word for me, or I'll be in serious trouble._

 _He got Tova to kill herself, but that wasn't his job, right? Right. I am the last who can judge. And Tova made her own choice, in the end. I'm still a bit uneasy about it though._

But in Skyrim, doing what I do, one must take a more… pragmatic approach to death.

To my relief, she returns my smirk, and I can breathe a little easier again.

"Precisely. Normally, I would make you undergo a test before allowing you entry into our home. But not only was my little brother quite… enamoured with how you dealt with the contract's lackeys and allowed him to have his kill, you spotted me instantly… And your attempt at reprimanding me for bad manners was… amusing. We are alone now. I'm sure your friends can miss you for a few hours."

She's already walking, flitting in and out of sight quickly. "Come with me, _cousin_. Let's see how you deal with the rest of the family."

 _Well… This is an invitation I cannot turn down, if I've ever heard one._

Cautiously, I follow her through the trees, which she traverses with the ease of one who's walked amongst them for years. My own footfalls, so used to stone and earth, sound clumsy compared to her, as tree roots and rabbit holes impede me in my path, the night not making the journey any easier despite my experience of moving through darkened ruins.

My steps sound loudly in my ears. To any other person, however, we are barely shadows flitting across the grass.

The odd thumping is back – the same I'd heard when I walked on the roads with Jenassa. Like a hollow heartbeat, reverberating in my bones. It gets louder and louder as we take the lower path, and the unknown woman reveals to me an ancient looking door, a skull and a corpse prominently featured in its design. I draw in a sharp breath upon seeing the visible, dull red glow _– those are highly advanced enchantments_.

The woman looks over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming darkly in the red light. "I trust you to keep your mouth shut about this. If you babble, it will be the last mistake you'll ever make. Oh, how rude of me. I did not even introduce myself to you, did I? I am Astrid, leader of the Dark Brotherhood. And you… Are our esteemed guest. _For now._ "

" _ **What is the music of life?**_ "

 _I am in deep shit._

"Silence, my brother."

 _Really deep shit. I think I might drown in it._

" _ **Welcome home."**_

 _Well then. Other than the end of the world, what do I have to lose?_

The door creaks open, and I see nothing but the blackest of darkness beyond – pretty much as I'd been expecting from a group of assassins, to be fair. Astrid steps into it without hesitation, and after a second of stumbling over a mental block inside of me screaming not to – I follow.

…

 _Alright, so the inside of this place is a lot more… comfortable-looking than I'd been expecting. I like the natural lake and the lighting, at least._

Taking note of anything important in the immediate area as I'm led down past what looks like a small office with a map of Skyrim on the table, covered in daggers, and to a large, open cavern with a stained glass window of Sithis looking down on it.

My eye strays to the side, where I hear a familiar chanting. _A word wall. What in Xrib's forges is a WORD WALL doing in here?_ But before I can get too distracted by the idea Veezara shows up at the top of the stairs. The other man that was near the forges is also approaching, even as Astrid languidly crosses her arms, staring me down.

I tilt my head and set a hand on my side, close enough to my axe to grab it in a second as I mentally go through all the Shouts I know of. _I have the first word of Frost Breath at my disposal, one word of Fire Breath, and if I must I'll just straight up use Whirlwind Sprint or Slow Time to get out of here faster._

I briefly imagine setting the Dark Brotherhood members on fire, even as my eyes scan the newcomers. A Redguard man who looks bored, a Dunmer woman and a… child?

 _No, those eyes, she isn't a child_.

Un-child, then. _Vampire_. A grumpy old man in red-and-black mage robes also stalks down the stairs, staring down at me impatiently.

"Who is this lost child, Astrid?" My eye twitches, but I remain silent as I focus on Astrid and Veezara, who seems more than happy to see me. When the blonde – _so that's her hair colour… Wait when'd she take off that hood? –_ remains silent the Argonian grins and claps me on the shoulder. I stiffen at the contact, but let him.

"This is Fjaldi, the one I've been telling you about." Now, there's a spark of interest in the mage's eyes. "Oh? I've heard you made quite good use of the Dwemer machinery back there. Creative, but of course, I could've done better."

I take in the mildly condescending look, the pride in his craft, and the idea that he knows exactly how to best deal with idiots via sarcasm – " _You and Marcurio would get along like a city on fire_." I observe under my breath, mildly disturbed by the thought of the pure, undiluted CHAOS that would reign were those two to ever meet on the same side of a battlefield, however unlikely that was.

Veezara tugs at my sleeve. "So what have you been up to lately? Gotten into more trouble after Raldbthar, it seems." I let out a chuckle.

"Well, when I think about it – there seems to be an unhealthy amount of… Every opponent I can think of in the last few months. The weekly dragon attacks are seriously starting to become the least of my problems with everything else that's been going on. But I'll not bore you with my issues. How have you been?"

"Rather good, considering the… circumstances."

He glances at Astrid, who shrugs as if to say: _he's in our house, might as well go all the way._ "Cicero has been insufferable lately." I raise an eyebrow. "Who or what is a 'Cicero'?" _and why can you not kill it? You're trained assassins, aren't you?_

The confused disdain in my voice must be apparent, since the man who was at the forge and reeks strongly of blood and steel laughs. "I might actually like this guy. Is he a new initiate?"

Something is off about him. _Similar to Rayya… Too similar._

Intense blue eyes suddenly train themselves on me, and I stiffen and straighten my spine as Astrid suddenly gains a more predatory gait.

She slowly moves towards me, and from the corners of my eye, I can see the other Brotherhood members backing off subtly to observe from a more respectful distance.

"We'll see about that now, won't we? After all, in a line of work like ours, one must be… picky."

She says as she shifts her weight onto her other foot, circling around me like a sabercat circles prey. I start breathing deeper, filling my lungs with air even as I stand seemingly frozen on the spot, allowing the woman to get up behind me. I can hear the weapon being drawn before she lunges.

"FEIM!"

Almost feeling her confusion at not meeting any resistance when she thrusts the dagger through my neck, I twirl on my heel swiftly, ducking low and drawing my dagger as I go.

 _Is this supposed to be an INITIATION?_

Grimacing, I realise that means I cannot kill her – _not if I don't want to be up to my neck in deadly assassins._

The second I can feel the Shout wear off I sweep my leg out in a wide arch, similar to how J'zargo always got opponents who got too close to stumble before he Firebolt-ed them in the face. Astrid, not a professional assassin for nothing, jumps over it and lashes out with her own kick, one I can barely dodge – it's far faster than what I'm used to.

What follows is a confusing mess of dodging and blocking, since she's not giving me and striking opportunities with those daggers of hers. My axes are too slow in comparison, I don't even bother drawing them, and my own Dwemer dagger is heavier than hers.

But I am already feeling my voice recover for another Shout – "TIID!" When the world fades to a dull blue around me I manage to somehow duck around and behind her, grabbing the wrist of her left hand and bringing it with me, where I follow up with pouncing on her like an animal would, working her to the ground with the full force of my weight and momentum before Time turns to normal again and I'm holding the struggling blonde to the ground, her own dagger poking in her back dangerously.

"Give." I growl, the wildness of using Dragon Shouts still lingering in my normal voice when she suddenly stops struggling.

"Give."

She agrees, but her voice is soaked in icy anger, and I jump off her so fast one might think she was on fire. _Which I totally could have done. Set her on fire, I mean._

"What _was_ that?" the Redguard asks incredulously. I blink at him. _To speak or not to speak… Well, what they don't know they will find out sooner or later, and I can't keep a secret this big from them._

"The Thu'um. I am the Dragonborn, after all."

He chuckles. "Why am I not surprised? Are you even aware that the Thalmor are after you?" I tilt my head curiously, inwardly growing cold.

 _Ondolemar didn't… say anything? How do I know I can trust this information? It's a good thing I do not normally advertise my status – I learned from that political disaster in Windhelm._

"I was not. Thank you for the heads up."

I pull out a piece of paper and promptly sit down on the floor, muttering curses under my breath in Dwemeris. "What are you doing now? I'm Babette, by the way." the small un-child giggles, trying to peer over my shoulders. _She's cold… and I know this smell._

"I am making a list of who I still have to teach a little lesson. It's getting too extensive to remain in my head. I might just leave someone out and hurt their feelings." I drawl sarcastically, finishing Elenwen 's name with a flourish.

 _It'll be like my own personal shit list. If I have to keep track of all the annoying people that keep getting in my way, I might as well write them up properly. And these people aren't going to kill me any time soon, I guess. Or they would have already._

Babette – _so that's her name_ \- snorts and stands up properly again. "I see why you like him." She informs Veezara, who twitches and stiffens, but doesn't reply. _Does he not like vampires?_

Astrid plucks the list from my hands from behind me. "I don't recognise any of the symbols. Is this some sort of code?" Her cold anger has given way to calculation, and she eyes me warily. Slowly, I find myself starting to relax, even enjoying this, a bit.

"It's Dwemeris. A pity the Thalmor are planning to murder me. I could teach them a thing or two about weapons of mass destruction. I'm an expert on the subject, one could say."

 _So could Ancano, but he's dead. I wonder how Onmund and J'zargo are doing, or if my current companions are already missing me._

"So you're a Dwemer, then?" the Dunmer woman asks, the first words I've heard her speak. I give her my most winning grin.

"Aye. You'd think the people here would be more accepting of that little fact, seeing that I'm apparently not the only race that came back to Skyrim lately."

 _The dragons take most of the attention away from me, luckily._ She lets out a huff. "Well, Astrid, are you going to introduce us all or do we need to take care of the newbie?"

I splutter. " _Newbie?_ I can't take, what is it, contracts! I already have an insane amount of work ahead of me…"

 _Such as getting involved in this Civil war, getting away from Marcurio, figure out how Onmund is doing, find out what Vulthuryol wants, find more Words of Power, defeat Alduin… somehow, and get those Greybeards pacified with the Horn after I visit the Sleeping Giant._

Perhaps the panic on my face looks comical, or perhaps it's my indignation at being called newbie, but I can just _see_ the stifled sniggers and chuckles from where I'm seated on the floor.

Rolling my eyes dramatically, I allow a small smile. "So… How do you guys work around here? Any rules I should be aware of? What happens now?"

 **In for a Soul gem, in for an Animunculi.** As mother would say.

 _No turning back now, I guess, so I'll have to at least try to get along with these people_. We do, after all, worship the same god.

 **A/N: I am back! Not completely sure about this chapter… But if my amateur mage can take down Astrid plus the whole Brotherhood then Fjaldi, with more training under his belt, can definitely take on an assassin. Tell me what you think – I'd love to hear it!**


	35. Bittersweet

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Same as last chapter.**

 **A/N: Non-edited. Feel free to point out any mistakes you see! I had… a lot of issues writing this chapter. The plot just did not want to come. I hope you enjoy nonetheless!**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _So… How do you guys work around here? Any rules I should be aware of? What happens now?"_

Chapter 35 – Bittersweet

"Well," Astrid says, "What happens now is you start your new life here in the Dark Brotherhood. You're part of the family after all. You won't find a safer place in all of Skyrim than this Sanctuary. Feel free to get comfortable for now. I don't have any interesting contracts ready for you. Ask Nazir for something to pass the time." She leaves then, leaving me surrounded by members of my new family.

"I'm Arnbjorn. I don't like you, but that's nothing personal, morsel. I'm Astrid's husband. She was a bit miffed by being tricked, it seems. I'll go speak with her." And he's off. _Nice to meet you too._

The others are apparently well-used to his attitude, not even batting an eye at the strange behaviour when Gabriella introduces herself next. ' _A woman of refined, yet simple tastes'. Alright..? She seems more pleasant than Arnbjorn and Astrid, though._

By now, I've already stood up, and Gabriella gives me a handful of clothes. "Feel free to wear them. Or not. We're assassins, not the Tamriel fashion police. Nobody will care whether or not you put on the uniform unless you're on a mission requiring… more than just killing."

I don't get to ask what she means as Babette and Nazir's bickering gets louder and louder. Veezara turns to me with a huff and I shrug my shoulder with a small smile as if to say 'well, what can you do'.

"Oh and - Fjaldi, was it? Cicero is probably dancing around somewhere near the Night Mother, you may want to find him later." With that, the Dunmer woman is off and Babette tugs at my clothes to catch my attention with a too-sharp, fanged grin.

"Hi, I'm Babette! You have to help me! They've killed my mama and papa, and now they're keeping me captive here!" The look of panic on her face would have been unquestionable had I not already faced similar creatures before.

"Oh? How long ago was that? One, two hundred years?" I give her a mischievous grin when her smile turns more genuine. "Sorry, but you don't fool me, miss vampire."

 _I've fought your kind several times. The first being most memorable. If not for the fire… Helgi would be just like you now, wouldn't she?_ My smile turns a little wistful. She arches her eyebrow. "Had a good experience with vampires?" I shake my head with a chuckle.

"Hah! No, not really, would have been one myself though, if I hadn't thrown a hissy fit in the jarl's own court. In hindsight, that may not have been my brightest idea."

I spend some more time with my new 'family', getting a single small contract from Nazir to be completed 'at my leisure' once he hears I'm headed for Riverwood and then Whiterun soon.

"This ones' on a Khajit. Ma'randru-jo. Something about a Skooma deal gone wrong. If you catch him in Whiterun, get the job done. If not, no problem, as long as you get to it eventually. The contracts aren't going anywhere." I blink down at the innocuous piece of paper.

"…" _Not sure how I feel about this. I've killed in self-defence, I've killed obstacles, and I've hunted down nuisances on request of people bothered by them. This is a new line I'm crossing, and I'm not sure if the lack of any anger or other emotion other than apathy means I don't even care._

"It was a pleasure to meet you, I suppose. _"_ The Redguard huffs. "Save yourself the niceties for now. I have no intention of getting invested in you when you may be dead tomorrow. If you're still breathing in a few weeks, I'm sure we'll be the best of friends."

 _Bitch, I've been actively hunting dragons and delving into Falmer nests and Nordic ruins for a year. I've endured all that, and so I will endure what will come. Still._

"That's rather presumptuous of you. I guess we'll see what happens in the next few weeks. Besides… I don't have to be breathing to walk around, as you ought to know." I briefly glance at the paths deeper into the Sanctuary meaningfully and the man snorts. "If you want to go join a vampire coven, be my guest."

I snicker with him, before suddenly, I'm alone with Veezara.

 _I should get to reading that Word, and then go back to Falkreath before I'm missed… I will probably not be, but the chance is there._

"I hadn't thought helping you all those weeks ago would lead to this." The Argonian stretches a little, before moving over to the archery range. I follow him sedately, not really caring either way, but wanting to catch up with him now that we're no longer temporary allies.

 _I wonder if I can accept this family… As extended family, if anything. Ma and Mellte, and uncle to some degree, will always be the most precious to me, even if my memories fade._

"Neither had I. But what a positive outcome this is. You've made the right choice following Astrid. You trust in her, follow her orders, and you'll do good here."

He drawls, making himself more comfortable and gesturing for me to do the same. I plop down to the ground, crossing my legs. "Well, I suppose we don't have to worry about killing each other anymore." While we fill each other in on the past few weeks –

"Oh, just the same old boring contracts. Had to kill a witch in Fort Greymoor, what's more interesting is what has yet to come. You've heard of the Vicci wedding taking place in a month and some off days? It'll be a real show, I'm sure. Maybe you'll even be assigned to have a part in it!" – I notice how tense the poor guy seems, fidgeting a little ever-so-often and looking away.

I tilt my head in worry. "Are you feeling ill? I'm sure Babette can also whip up a potion for you… Or, here, have one of mine. Store-bought, but it should do…" Veezara looks at me, confused. "I… Why would you think I am ill, friend?" Now, it's my turn to be flustered.

"Well, you, uh, were fidgeting. I thought you might have been uncomfortable? Or am I just boring you?" I end on a more playful note, still pressing the potion into his claws just in case he needs it later.

"No! Not at all. I suppose it's been a while since I last had a good contract." I raise an eyebrow at him in disbelief. _I sense an excuse. But very well, let him think he's tricked me for now._ "Aye, very well. Best hope that Astrid comes up with something good soon, then." I look around, but it's impossible to tell the time in here.

Reluctantly, I stand up, dusting my pants of before heading to where the chanting in the back of my mind has been pointing all this time. "I'll meet with Cicero, see what he's like, and then leave – I really must be back at the inn by dawn. They're not going to let me sleep in just because I 'took a walk in the forest'."

I smile at Veezara, who just waves back, before walking up to the Word Wall – KRII. _The first word of Marked for Death – why am I not surprised? I already know the third word, too… But that one is useless until I can get word number two, and I've no IDEA where that is._

The Forsaken cave and the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary. _This Shout system, with words spread all over Skyrim and maybe even Tamriel, is such bullshit. A Dovahzul dictionary is really, really moving up my priority list._ I purse my lips as I inspect the other strange writings, but I only recognise some of the runes I've encountered before, like the 'i', the 'ah', and the 'aa' runes. _Aye, if no dictionary exists I will have to make one myself, once I retire… (If I even get that far)._

Cicero is… Crazy. Insane. Mad. And a jester and trained assassin to boot, I suppose. Somehow managing to get through an entire 'conversation' with him without losing my patient smile feels like a personal achievement.

I step out of the room reeking of salve, rot and death, like draughr scent masked with flowers, as fast as is considered polite, a solemn expression on my face as I close the door behind me.

 _I'm glad I got out of there. I was starting to hear voices._

The expression doesn't leave me when I run into Nazir again, walking down to the main cavern with a rusty dagger. Seeing any blade in such condition makes disdain well up in me, but the… meeting, with Cicero has left me quite unbalanced. "Cicero is a few cogs short of a mechanism." I deadpan when the Redguard only raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

I rub my ear with a frown, as if to dislodge filth. "No, I'm serious! That guy's so mad even _I_ was starting to hear voices!"

The second eyebrow joins the first, now in honest surprise. "Hearing voices? In the Night Mothers' chamber?" Uneasy, I fidget under his gaze. "It was probably my mind playing tricks on me, Nazir. It is quite late, after all." His penetrating gaze stayed on me for a few more moments.

"Then sleep. But fair warning – if that voice starts to become a regular thing, you may want to talk to Astrid about it, or attempt to listen more closely to what it says."

 _Only in Skyrim. Only in this – this logic-forsaken land of Skyrim would people ENCOURAGE me to listen to the voices in my head._

 _I'm out of here. I need sleep._

…

 _For fuck's sake, I only want some sleep._ By the time I get back to the inn and to the shared room of Marcurio and I, I can see the woman he was making eyes for earlier is lying next to him, _cuddled up to him,_ both of them naked as the day they were born. _Am I happy this inn had doors built in for privacy since I gave them the money for it before I left last time._

Even so, I never could've dreamt this would happen. It's like someone threw a bucket of ice in my face, which settles somewhere in my stomach.

And… it's quite clear _what_ happened. _Love at first sight, aye? Not unheard of._ I shut the door behind me, not able to get myself another room since Valga is fast asleep at these hours. Besides, dawn is approaching rapidly. I sit down at the smouldering coals in the centre of the room, feeling drained and empty, and a little lost.

 _Married on the first night. I can't believe he didn't even bother to ask for my opinion, or Erandur's, at least. I mean, the Dunmer is a priest of Mara!_

 _But…_ I glance up at the door leading to them, to him, briefly before a sharp pang in my chest has me look away again, something wet dripping down my face and I still feel so… _so damn empty_.

 _But if he is happy with her, who am I to interfere? Jealous? Hah… aye, definitely. But when did jealousy ever solve anything?_

I walk up to one of the tables, exhaustion starting to gnaw at me, so I take a long swig of ale and help myself to the bread still lying about. A little dry, but otherwise fine. I'm not even hungry. I just need to stay awake for an entire day without falling over on the road to Riverwood. _Without Marcurio._

…Who will probably take his new sweetheart back to Riften. And since I'm loathe to let them travel by themselves and I know Erandur wants to go to Riften to stay at the temple there… _Looks like it will be just me and, what's her name, Rayya, for now. Maybe when I pass through Whiterun and visit Jarl Balgruuf, I can drag Lydia along?_

The hurt, the deep, soul-aching pain that settles deep in my chest, I know I won't be rid of for quite some time. _I'm more of a fool than Cicero could ever hope to be._ And so, the pain is my only companion for another few hours, and though I'm tempted to drink it all away, I don't think Valga will much appreciate a drunk in the early hours of morning.

I sit with my back to the fire, and place my head in my arms on the table. Something wet drips down my cheeks, and I bite the inside of my lip until I draw blood to stifle the pathetic sounds that threaten to leave me.

 _Pretty sure that if my new 'family' saw me now they'd either murder Marcurio or revoke my status as family member._

The thought doesn't cheer me up. Something cold and painful grows in my chest like a block of ice, it hurts, hurts, hurts, but I know I can do nothing about it without completely destroying every semblance of a friendship Marcurio and I can still have after this. _I'm such a fool. Such a Sithis-damned fool._

 _I love him._

The stark realisation, far, far too late, has my chest clench so sharply that I fear I've snapped a heartstring or two for a moment. A shuddering breath. And another.

 _Just keep breathing, Fjaldi. You're still breathing._

 _Endure._ Like Dwemer always do. Sometimes with the help of a mind healer that I cannot help myself with regardless of any vows. Footsteps walk up behind me slowly. "Tough night?" Valga asks worriedly, sounding a little tired herself.

"You could say so." I somehow manage to croak out miserably.

The footsteps move away for a while before returning, and I manage to lift my infinitely more heavy than usual head to blearily stare at the fresh foods placed in front of me. "On the house. I've never seen you this downtrodden." I shake my head, placing it back in my arms after nibbling on a bit of cheese I can't even taste properly.

After an hour or so, when some other patrons are starting to awaken and the village outside is slowly starting to live again, I manage to somewhat – barely – pull myself together the slightest bit. Enough to sit mostly upright, leaning my chin on one hand as I at least try to eat some proper breakfast.

Every bite is like sawdust in my mouth and throat, and I stare down at my plate dispassionately, my mind blissfully blank. When movement comes from Erandur's room, my ears only twitch. I don't move to greet him when he sits next to me, concerned frown on his face.

"Are you alright?"

 _No._

The tears threaten to escape again, but I look away and soldier through it with some more meditation-based, carefully measured, shaky breaths. "I've decided." Now, his frown turns downright worried, the priest's robes shifting as he places a dark-skinned hand on my shoulder, red eyes staring at me intensely.

"On what, Fjaldi?" He sounds so kind, so caring, the same he always does, even when something minor is afoot. The intonation of his voice alone is enough to make me hunch my shoulders even as exhaustion makes control of my emotions harder. I grit my teeth, and shake my head resolutely.

The girl Marcurio married walks out the door first, her hair still in disarray and her clothing askew as she awkwardly dances around her employer before disappearing into the back room. I look after her blankly. _She doesn't deserve Marcurio._ But then, neither do I. He's never looked at me like he looked at her before, after all. So she must have… _something_ , I do not.

 _Or maybe he just preferred human lovers all along. Maybe I never stood a chance from the very start, if elves aren't his thing. Not 'human' enough._

Slowly, my gaze turns back to my plate. And I go back to waiting.

Marcurio has us wait for him for another 34 minutes and 12 seconds. When the door to the room with the double bed opens again, Erandur looks up with a stern look of disapproval on his face. "Good morning gentlemen! And what a fine morning it is!"

The mage calls out jovially, and I squint up at him through tired eyes, having trouble even focusing through the maelstrom of emotions raging through me. Anger, frustration, sadness, heartbreak, it makes me dizzy as it builds and builds inside my until I reach some sort of, inner threshold, and all those emotions implode inside of me, leaving behind only cold, cold, apathy. I still don't fully see the mage, having gone far beyond the realms of anger an sadness, spiralling into emptiness.

"I think it's time for us to part ways."

 _I still have all my gear on me. I don't need to step into that accursed room again. "_ With _both_ of you. _"_ I give Erandur what I hope is an apologetic smile, but instead I see a flash of righteous anger, seemingly not directed at me.

"Marcurio, take Erandur and your new love to Riften safely. You know how our favourite priest has wanted to go to the Temple of Mara." Every word is distant and mechanical, like through a mirror, or glass. Like I'm not even there, and it's just a puppet or – _shudder_ – a draughr, speaking.

"But she's -"

" _Marcurio_."

The protesting mage snaps his jaw shut with a click, eyes burning with something I cannot even think of understanding, not now, when I cannot even get a read on my _own_ emotions. "Just… Go."

 _The last thing I want to hear about is how amazing your new wife is._

I purse my lips, nearly letting out an animalistic howl of anger, nearly unleashing all of my pent-up emotions and exhaustion on the mage like a battering ram. Instead, I turn sharply, stalking out of the inn and _violently_ slamming the door shut behind me, ignoring the frustration welling up and boiling over for all of three seconds –

 **A/N: Why? Because I'm evil.**


	36. Ysmir

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Greybeards, Delphine, much dialogue, Angst**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _But she's -" "Marcurio." The protesting mage snaps his jaw shut with a click, eyes burning with something I cannot even think of understanding, not now, when I cannot even get a read on my own emotions. "Just. Go." The last thing I want to hear about is how amazing your new wife is._

Chapter 36 - Ysmir

"Rayya! We're leaving _now._ "

I order the second I'm in the door opening of the jarl's longhouse. Luckily, the woman walks right up to me immediately. "Did something happen?" She asks confusedly, and I start shaking my head before I pause, nodding sharply, once. I start walking towards the town's borders without waiting for her to catch up.

 _I don't care. I don't care. I'm FINE._

The attempt to convince myself those things are true fails miserably and my teeth grind together violently.

For the first time, I'm more than happy to leave Falkreath behind.

I set a quick pace, not wanting to be followed by Erandur or, gods damn him, _Marcurio,_ and aye, the wolves and bears we meet on the road are having days even worse than mine.

Rayya keeps up fairly well, all things considered. "My Thane? It is not my intention to pry, but, what made you want to leave so quickly without your companions? Did you have a falling out?" I give her a dark look for even mentioning them, but when I see the slightly fearful flicker in her gaze, I backtrack and force myself to calm down a little.

For a long time, I allow myself to be caught up in my own musings and darkening thoughts.

 _I want to go on a murdering rampage – but Jenassa and I took out so many bandits last time we passed through I doubt I will find anything to slaughter. Also, I do not know Rayya's fighting style well enough to rely on her._

"No. We did not fight. I would not want that… Marcurio, he…" I bite my lip harshly. _Don't be such a weakling and just say it. It's just words._ "He got himself a wife. I… I cannot stand to look at him, right now."

I do not want to know what she's thinking right now, even as her face falls into a stony mask. "I see." _I do not think you do, Housecarl mine._

I clear my throat awkwardly as her gaze turns to pity. "Alright, so we're going to Riverwood first, and take two rooms at the inn there. Just... Let me do the talking. Afterwards, we're passing through Whiterun, perhaps pick up another Housecarl, if she's back yet, and then… High Hrothgar. I haven't planned ahead any further than that, I'm afraid."

"With all due respect, my Thane. You've already planned a hundred times more than what I have seen other Nords… 'plan'. They mostly plan to get drunk in the evening, and start drinking again in the morning."

Unexpectedly, especially considering my mood, I grin. Even if it is not a joyful expression.

"I'm thrilled I am compared to such brilliant specimens." Comes my acrid reply, and to my satisfaction she doesn't cringe, but grins back instead.

For a long moment, I'm jealous of her perfectly white teeth. Clearing my throat, I change the subject.

"We'll be at Riverwood soon, correct?"

Her grin dims slightly as she eyes me confusedly. "My Thane… We're already there." My head jerks up sharply, to indeed see the wooden houses up ahead.

"Oh." I mumble stupidly, running a hand through my hair. The sky is only in the first moments of dusk, the sun not even having set yet, but I can feel the tiredness settled deep inside my bones.

 _Am I ready to deal with whoever left that ridiculous note?_

… _No. No I am not._

And therefore, when I enter the Sleeping Giant, I ask for two regular rooms. Delphine seems almost disappointed. Was it _her_? At the moment, I don't care. The Greybeards can wait a night longer for me to get that horn somehow, for now, I really want to go to bed and sleep in until noon tomorrow.

Which is exactly what I do.

…

"Good afternoon, my Thane." Rayya smiles when I walk out of my room the next morning. I take a second to yawn properly before greeting her, as well. "Morning, Rayya." With that, I plop myself down on a chair and wait for either Delphine or the other guy what's-his-name to come and ask me if I want breakfast.

 _Think of the Daedra and she shall appear._

"Is there anything you'd like to eat, drink?" Delphine asks, and I give her my most charming grin, feeling a little bit more like I can take on a challenge than I did yesterday, and the day before that. "Sure. Just some ale is fine. You know… It's strange how life gets in the way of things you want, isn't it? Just three days ago, I'd have immediately asked for the attic room here, but well, my bullshit meter was so ridiculously full that it malfunctioned."

Still having the exact same smile on my face, I watch the blonde Nord's face cycle through what has to be the entire emotional spectrum, anger and surprise most visible, before settling back into a blank mask.

"Attic room, aye? Well, we don't have an attic room, but you can take the one on the left. Make yourself at home."

I hand her the ten gold coins with a covert roll of my eyes, before gesturing for Rayya to come with me to the exact same room I'd already slept in today.

"So, you're the Dragonborn. I've heard awfully little about you. Trying to keep a low profile, right? A good choice."

 _Good. If so few people have learned about my real identity that stories about my exploits are hard to come by, I'm playing this game right. To be fair, outside of some trusted people I've told and that one disaster in Windhelm, I haven't been advertising who I am._

Which is why the Thalmor after me – _and Xrib's forges is Ondolemar going to hear what I think of that –_ hopefully have very little idea of who I am.

I don't think any Stormcloak-allied city will even breathe a word of me to those pesky bastards, though, even if just out of pettiness.

 _Oh wait, she was still talking? I'll ask Rayya about it later._

"I think you were looking for this. We need to talk." I accept the horn from her, and glare daggers at her back when she turns and walks off again without as much as a by-your-leave, expecting me to follow like some mutt.

 _I am a proud Dwemer Forgemaster. I should not be treated in such a disrespectful and manipulative manner..! But, I will deal with it. Even if only to keep that inner voice called 'Nazir' telling me to 'get my head shrunk' quiet._

Grinding my teeth and letting out a sharp huff, I follow, Rayya loyally guarding my back and seeming less than impressed with this strange new phenomena called 'Delphine'… If that's her real name.

 _I'm not okay with this situation. I mean, I can protect myself if push comes to shove, but…_

Simply moving from one side of the inn to the other, Delphine stands still in front of a wardrobe. I raise my eyebrow, even as Rayya closes the door behind us to give an illusion of privacy.

… _.I want Marcurio…_ The traitorous thought it squashed immediately as I retreat a little further into myself. _He's gone. I need to stop thinking about him._

"Now come with me so we can talk." The blonde Nord who's been giving me trouble mutters as she opens the wardrobe, revealing a secret entrance to some sort of basement. _I wish I had a full-on basement in Hjerim. Would make storing that gold so much easier._

The basement is quite big, with a practise dummy, plenty of supplies, several books, an alchemy station and a large table in the centre, on which I focus my attention: A map, and a small black book with a silver insignia of the Empire's flag emblazoned on it.

 _Not a Thalmor, but perhaps an Imperial spy..?_

"The Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn."

The word 'Greybeards' is almost spat, like only saying it is poisonous. _A possible spy that hates the Greybeards, who I do not like but are dedicated to helping me._ "I hope they're right."

… _Would it be wrong for me to try out how much of an effect my newly improved Marked for Death-Shout works on this woman?_ I cross my arms impatiently, my eye twitching. This just started, and I'm already growing tired. I suppose I'm not as recovered from the past few days and happenings as I'd thought.

 _Ugh, who am I kidding? I want to go back to bed and forget about everything for, like, the next two months or so._

Delphine stares at me intently, as if the space between my forehead and my nose can solve every problem in the universe. I want to snort derisively.

 _Highly unlikely, that._

"You were the one who took the horn from Ustengrav, didn't you?"

"What, Surprised? You've suspected me from the beginning, didn't you? And here I was, thinking I was getting good at this harmless innkeeper act." I let out a huff of amusement, shaking my head slightly even as Rayya stays worryingly silent, her hand on her scimitars and staring Delphine down dangerously, ready to jump to my defence any second. It's… calming to an extent, to realise. It's much like having a guard dog at my side.

"I grow weary of this useless talk. What do you want." I demand nonetheless, watching her eyes darken and her fists clench on the table.

"I did not go through all this trouble for a whim. I needed to know this wasn't some Thalmor trap."

 _Human, if this was a Thalmor plot I'd eat a whole giant. Raw. They literally spend their every waking moment trying to mock Nord culture, not understand it, nevermind to use it against us._

"I am not your enemy. I already gave you the horn, I'm really trying to help you! I only ask that you hear me out!" Holding my hands up in mock-surrender, I parrot back:

"I needed to know this wasn't some Thalmor trap." She stiffens, then seems to see where I'm coming from. "Talk." Now the blonde is affronted. That's alright. I'm not here to play nice with what might still possibly be some sort of spy, even if not of Thalmor origin.

"I assure you, the Thalmor are the last I'd ever work with. As I said in my note - " _So she did send it. Also, I hope Rayya doesn't attack her before I CAN fully hear her out – "_ I'm part of a group that's been looking for you, or well… Somebody like you, for a long time. _"_

 _What group?_ I inwardly yell.

Out loud, what passes my lips is: "Please don't give me a sales pitch. I've had enough of that from Ulfric to last a lifetime."

"This is NOT a sales pitch! For Talos' sake, hear me out in silence!" She almost thunders, and I sardonically wonder if a wardrobe door is enough to block the sound for the rest of the patrons of the inn. "Before I can tell you more, I need to make sure I can trust you."

 _You can't. I'm a member of the Dark Brotherhood, for Sithis' sake!_ I almost want to laugh. Part of me would rather cry because… Dark Brotherhood. I didn't even ask for it though it still happened. "And I assume this… 'trust' can go both ways?"

 _Aye, a bed would go a long way in improving my mood._

She glowers at me, and Rayya loosens the clips holding her scimitars in place, ready to draw them at any second. "If you don't trust me, you were a fool to walk in here in the first place."

Just as I start laughing at her, Rayya draws her scimitars.

"My Thane does not trust easily. He walks into danger because he knows what he can handle, and he can _definitely_ handle _you._ " My Housecarl hisses. Delphine visibly bristles, her own hand going for her dagger.

 _Whoah, wait, I'm not looking to view a bloodbath here!_ "Both of you. Calm down. Also, _Delphine,_ if that's your name, I have a very simple solution to this. Tell me what you are keeping from me, and I will decide if I, if not trust, at least put a little faith in your words." She purses her lips, tightening her grip on her dagger as if to lash out, before she suddenly deflates.

"Fine." Comes the haughty reply. "My order remembers what most do not – the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragon slayer. Only they can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul. Can you do it, can you devour a dragon's soul?" I only nod solemnly, not deigning to come up with a verbal reply since I'm _still_ waiting for my explanation.

"Good. Dragons aren't just coming back to Skyrim. They are being brought back to life. They weren't gone somewhere all these years. They were dead. Killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. I've visited their ancient burial mounts and found them… emptied."

A chill settles into every cell of my body at that news. _Who? Who or what would tamper with nature as Meridia and Sithis designed it? The dead ought to stay dead. Buried._

I bite my lip harshly. _**Arnknurlaf is probably appalled**_ _._ "I need you to help me stop that process." _This… changes things._ "If you speak truth, Delphine, then…The dead should stay buried. I will believe you. For now. But do _not_ take my agreement for compliance."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

…

When I walk out of the inn a few minutes, that could have been hours, later, I'm still reeling. She knows where the next dragon will come to life. And after I finish my business with the Greybeards… For now, I will join her so we can fight the dragon and I can have its soul. This would go a lot faster if I could kill a dragon on the road when she's watching, but who am I to ruin her 'elaborate' plan?

The road to Whiterun has never seemed this short before – when we get to the city, I spot no Khajit caravan. _Ri'saad said they travelled between Markarth and Whiterun. I'll get that contract next time I'm either here or there, if Sithis wills it so._

We don't even stay the night, I only run by Adrienne's and Dragonsreach long enough to upgrade two sets of armour sans helmets – a set of Orcish armour for Rayya, and a set of lighter scale armour for Lydia once I run into her and decide to drag her along with me right away, explaining as I go.

Breezehome has not been robbed, either. Good. I ditch the valuables I'd been carrying in the bedroom chest, send a quick prayer to Xrib to protect it, and we're off on the road again – moving until deep in the night, where we make a quick camp and reach High Hrothgar the next day.

"We've made excellent time." I mutter, satisfied, when we reach the doors to the monastery. Lydia, like Anneke, is completely star-struck, not even the troll blood on her armour preventing her from caressing the stone as if caressing a revered shrine of Talos with big eyes and open mouth. She's proven herself to be as tough as Rayya, if not more so, but six times more frigid.

 _I do not think she wanted to be a Housecarl… Or, more accurately, I don't think she wanted to be a Housecarl to an ELF._ A proud Nord, through and through.

Seeing Rayya, unimpressed and shivering from the cold, I decide we might as well just move inside. The horn feels heavy in my knapsack as I approach Arngeir in the main room. I take out the horn and take a step closer.

"Ah. I see you've retrieved the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller at long last. Well done. If I may ask, what took you?" Grinning sheepishly, I rub the back of my head as my Housecarls stay at a respectful distance.

"I got distracted and kind of became Thane in three different holds and also helped solve the problems at Winterhold College..?" I trail off, ending in almost a whisper near the end. The Greybeard gives me a long, assessing look before laughing softly, his voice an underlying thunder to it that I recognise as the power of the Thu'um.

"Making waves, I see. As expected of the Dragonborn. Now… Come. You have passed all our trials. There's one last thing we must do… It's time to recognise you as the Dragonborn formally."

Barely able to nod with the nerves now overly active in every part of my body, making me shake with the force of it, I walk after the monk, my knees weak and my mind racing. _There's no way out anymore. No way out… Gods, I want to run so badly, I never asked for a fate like this._ Grimly, I take my place in the centre of the room, watching another monk gently guide my companions away.

 _Endure. I must endure, as I've always done._

Then I'm taught the last word of Unrelenting Force.

FUS RO DAH.

It feels like a rite of passage… I suppose, in a way, it is. "Stand between us, and prepare yourself." I swallow thickly and nod, doing as they say. My palms are sweaty, my knees are wobbly, and I cannot seem to focus on much of anything. And so, all I do is brace myself for an impact. "Few can withstand the unbridled voice of the Greybeards."

 _I hope I'm one of the ones who can, then._

They start speaking, suddenly, in the ancient dragon language – making the wall shake and making me infinitely glad that I braced as I force myself to keep standing like a rock stands firm in a river under their vocal assault on my ears and, really, every other sense.

It's made worse by the fact that I cannot understand a word aside from 'DOVAHKIIN'. Once they stop, I wobble a little bit more, unbalanced, and feeling… A little different. A little stronger, maybe, steadier. Like something within me has been put at ease, has been given purpose.

Still shaky, I turn to face Arngeir again, who smiles proudly underneath his hood, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. _Also, did they just say 'Ysmir'? As in, the odd name Vulthuryol called me back in Nchuand-Zel, Ysmir?_

"You have tasted the Voice of the Greybeards, and passed through unscathed. High Hrothgar is open to you."

 _Uh… Thank you, I guess?_

"You are Ysmir now. Dragon of the North. Honour it." Something within me, near my stomach, seems to physically jerk at the name – recognition.

 _My name. As much as Fjaldi is._ Ysmir. Vulthuryol was calling my by not only my own name, but also my… dragon one? My other name? _How did he even know it when the Greybeards hadn't given it to me until now?_

I wait until all the monks have left, presumably to go to their usual meditation stations, before whispering it out loud to myself. " _Ysmir…_ " It's barely a whisper, but it feels… Nice, to say.

 _I am a proud member of the Dwemer race. The last, according to some. I am a Forgemaster, and son of Saarimda and Kvaldi._

 _I… am Dragonborn, too._

 _I'm also definitely not going to live beyond age twenty-two at this rate._

… _Fuck me._

 **A/N: Finally had time to edit a chapter dear lord. Hope you liked it! Also, no, we haven't seen the last of Marcurio… And hey, I drew Fjaldi and put him as the cover-thingy for this fic!**


	37. Letter

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): More Delphine, follows canon almost exactly, filler(?), most of this chapter is a letter.**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _Ysmir…" It's barely a whisper, but it feels… Nice, to say_. _I am a proud member of the Dwemer race. The last, according to some. I am a Forgemaster, and son of Saarimda and Kvaldi. I… am Dragonborn._

Chapter 37 – Letter

By the time we're back in Ivarstead, I still haven't spoken a single word to either of my Housecarls. Lydia seems… subdued. Still colder than a Winterhold night, but subdued nonetheless.

Rayya is plain worried about me, even though we met barely a week ago. It gives me a warm feeling inside but I don't mention it. Wouldn't want to make her uncomfortable.

Gods know I am uncomfortable enough for all of us.

A large part of me feels that everything that's happened so far was but a prelude, a year to get used to this new world, and that now, the real problems are only starting.

 _As if I don't have enough to be worried about already._

 _And speaking of problems…_

"…Do either of you know how the Civil War is doing? I haven't had much news, and it's been a year since I've first heard of it. It might prove a problem if we want to solve the Alduin crisis, even if I haven't gotten involved so far."

Rayya shakes her head no, but Lydia gives me a cold look. "The situation isn't changing. Neither side has made progress, but every day more people die fighting for Skyrim's freedom… Thane."

I glance at her over my shoulder with a frown, a bit perturbed.

 _A Stormcloak sympathiser? Lovely. I'm sure we'll get along just… splendidly, considering the ones I trust either prefer or consider themselves part of the Imperial Empire._

… _Or the Thalmor, in Ondolemar's case. Plus, I'm of the Mer races, which Ulfric wants out of 'his' country along with the beast races._

 _Not like that would cause the economy to collapse right down on top of his overgrown head._

Aye, this is a disaster waiting to happen. Not just Skyrim as a whole, but my relation with Lydia, also.

She barely even respects me. _Probably heard what I did to Nelkir for Jarl Balgruuf to name me Thane in the first place. Exorcisms. Ugh._

I can't blame her for disliking me, not really. Which is why I stay quiet even as I observe Narfi's abandoned hut. The mad beggar was found dead weeks ago, apparently. _I bet my new 'family' has something to do with that. Speaking of which, I ought to head to Solitude if I want to make it to the wedding Veezara mentioned in time._

I spot a vaguely familiar face – I'd seen the man in Whiterun and Markarth, and I think in Windhelm, too. When he spots me looking at him, to my chagrin, he doesn't turn away to go about his business but approaches me instead.

"Hello! I've been looking for you. I have something to deliver to you – your hands only, but you're a hard man to pin down." I tilt my head. _A… courier? Who would send me mail?_

"Let's see… No less than three letters, right here! A note from Calcelmo in Markarth… And these two both come from Winterhold. A letter from the new Archmage AND the Jarl, my, you have friends in high places." He hands me the three letters, all sealed with wax and indeed, addressed to me, before adding: "Oh! And Syglia from Shor's Stone asked me to tell you that she and her mother have recovered well, and that her mother has returned to… What was it? Darkwater Crossing. Well, looks like that's it. I'll be around here for a bit, so tell me if you have anything that needs to be delivered."

 _Being a courier in this time and place must take some serious courage. Or desperation. But he seems happy about all this, so it must be the former… Xrib's forge, Nords are insane._

The note from Calcelmo only references a Dwemer artefact he found and wants my opinion on whenever it's convenient for me. He also mentions that his book is coming along nicely, and he'd like me to come in to refine some of the points he mentions.

 _I guess I'll go see him next time I'm in Markarth. Not that I'm planning to go there soon, what with all the trouble I found last time._

The Jarl of Winterhold thanks me for my services again and asks me to find a helmet somehow important to Winterhold, since the 'useless mages are too busy keeping their college from collapsing in on itself, and you are someone I feel I can trust with such a task'. Of course there's also a handsome reward involved.

 _Again, I'll see it when I get there. He only mentions a location – how am I supposed to know where this 'Hob's Fall cave' is?_

The thing of most interest here is the letter form the Arch-Mage. I suppose they've appointed a new person. Probably Mirabelle Ervine since she was, after all, the Master Wizard. But when I open the letter and skip to the end to see who's signed it, my jaw hits the floor.

 _Onmund? ONMUND is the new Arch-Mage?_ Quickly, I start reading the letter thoroughly. I simply must know how the brat managed THIS!

 _Hi Fjaldi!_

 _I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wasn't sure who to address it to at first since you, Erandur, and Marcurio seemed so close-knit, But J'zargo helped, telling me that you were some sort of leader of the group. So, here you are, with my letter. Say hi to the others for me!_

 _The courier probably already told you this, but I still wanted to tell you that they've appointed me Arch-Mage. Mirabelle died getting everyone to safety, and Tolfdir, J'zargo and I somehow managed to defeat Ancano together. I don't see why I'm getting most of the credit, I mean, sure I got the Staff of Magnus to the college, but I never could have dreamt of doing it without your and Marcurio's help! If you get the chance, thank him for me, please. And I also want to thank you, for everything you did to help even though it didn't concern you._

 _Since I'm Arch-Mage, I've been trying to fix relations with the rest of Winterhold and make more contact with the outside world to get trade back to the hold, but it's going slow. Well, Cyrodill wasn't built in a day, I guess. Anyway, I've been trying to do a little more than the previous Arch-Mage. I haven't had a moment's rest since I'm also still continuing my studies to live up to Savos Aren's name and trying to find an artefact I… lost. What have you been getting up to? More trouble, I bet? Got involved into some other world-destroying crisis?_

 _Oh, and you should know that the college will always be open to you. Feel free to finally come to the Arcaneum when you have the time. I know you're probably always busy. I'm sorry if this reached you at an inopportune moment…_ _J'zargo thinks that Onmund should not apologise for it. This one also wishes to thank you. J'zargo managed to sleep a whole week after the incident._ _Sorry again, but J'zargo has been reading over my shoulder this whole time and he just plucked my letter off my desk. How does he do that so quickly?!_

 _Also, since you were so hung up on the state of the bridge, I hired a team of builders to fix it. It's slow going, and will probably be put on hold during the winter, but the people of Winterhold seem happy about the extra business nonetheless. If this letter sounds like a mess, I'm sorry, I just have so many things I want to tell you! I don't have enough paper to write it all down…_

 _Anyway, I hope you have time to come visit soon! I found something I wanted to give you, and J'zargo wishes to thank you in person (a rare feat, I know), as do I, and probably most other members of the college. If you find any prospective students, you can also send them this way… Even though Tolfdir told me not to bother you with that. We lost many good mages to Ancano's greed._

 _Until we meet again,_

 _J'zargo hopes to see you soon as well, friend,_

 _Onmund, Arch-Mage of Winterhold college (it feels so weird to write this)_

 _J'zargo._

 _PS. Do not think we did not notice the way you and the other mage looked at each other all the time – expect questions._ _J'zargo you can't just TELL someone that!_ _This one does what this one wants._

I snicker, then carefully fold the letter and put it in my breast pocket, right next to my fire-resistant amulet, where it's safer than in my knapsack. My Housecarls are standing behind me, talking in hushed voices, and they shut up the moment I look at them with a raised eyebrow. "Sorry I took so long, ladies. We're going to Kynesgrove next. There should be a dragon on the loose soon and I don't want to miss the party."

"I'm not exactly curious to see how a dragon makes a party." Rayya mutters under her breath, but they follow me, taking note of the new spring in my step. _I think that letter was exactly what I needed. I guess I now know where I'm headed once the wedding is over._

…

"I can't believe you call _this_ a party." The Redguard hisses, crouched right behind Delphine as we move up the hill towards the burial mount, where Alduin is flying over, undoubtedly seeing us since there's barely any cover even though it's 4 in the morning and the night should help us remain unnoticed. Lydia similarly curses under her breath as the top comes in view and we slip behind large rocks on either side of the path. The people down in Kynesgrove had understandably been terrified and had been more than happy to let a group of adventurers deal with the problem.

 _But I am in no way ready to face Alduin. If that huge, black dragon is Alduin as I suspect he is._ Then he starts talking… in the Dragon Tongue, of course, because this shit cannot be made easy for me.

"Sahloknir! Ziil gro dovah ulse." _I only know the word 'dragon'. Gods, why am I so useless when it comes to the dragon language? I need a word wall or twenty._

"SLEN TIID VO!"

 _A Shout! With 'time' in it? To undo time?_ And yes – when the Shout takes effect, something bursts from the burial mount in a shower of dirt, letting out a deafening screech as it shakes the remnants of rest from its wings. I swallow thickly, entranced by the scene, even as Delphine hisses something I don't even try to hear.

But whereas Lydia and Rayya follow her lead, sinking deeper into the shadows, I stay rooted to the spot – in fear, horror, or awe, I do not know. Then the second dragon – _Sahloknir? Is its name Sahloknir? –_ starts speaking, as well. As if it hadn't just been raised from the dead. Holy fucking shit, if this is Alduin's power, I want nothing to do with him, ever. Fate can find another idiot dumb enough to try and solve _that_ problem.

( _But inside of me, my soul roars in challenge, and even as I deny it to myself I know I will not back down from a fight, should it come down to it. My dragon soul, and my mortal pride, will not allow it. I'd make quite the pitiful Dragon of the North if I gave up now._ )

"Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?" Okay, but what in Oblivion is that supposed to mean? If I had to guess it contains the phrase ' _Lord Alduin, is it time for…_ '

"Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir." Alduin answers, and it sounds like 'Geh' might be the draconic equivalent of 'yes', from his intonation.

I bite my lip harshly, observing the two beasts closely. Then of course, the Destroyer of Worlds turns to ask _me_ a question, and I'm stumped as how to answer since I do not even know what it means.

"Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi."

 _Uh-huh, aye, of course, definitely, couldn't agree with you more... No, seriously, what is he talking about? It sounds important._

When I remain silent the dragon snorts derisively. "You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah!"

I shouldn't. _I really shouldn't._ But my traitorous mouth is already opening.

"Such arrogance, to think you're so great to think I'd even WANT to take that name!"

Alduin snarls, but seems to deem me no threat at all. "Mouthy mortal, you will find your doom soon enough! SAHLOKNIR! KRII DAAR JOORRE!"

Kill the mortals.

It speaks of the nature of all dragons that _that_ 's the one sentence I _can_ fully understand. ' _Kill the mortals_ '.

It's still four to one. I've faced worse odds. Like two versus two, that time with Marcurio. _I can do this._

Alduin flies off, turning his back to us in a show of unbridled arrogance himself, as Sahloknir flies up, and charges at us with a roar.

"HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT ALDUIN THURI?"

 _I made it angry. Fuck. I should have seen this coming. I saw this coming. I'm a Sithis-damned idiot._

I draw my axes. "Incoming." Lydia calls out in a voice dry as dust, her bow in her hand as Rayya draws her scimitars and Delphine pulls out a sword with a design I've never seen before…

My inner smith wants to forget about the dragon instantly and quiz her about it, but I know full well now is _not the time_.

"How dare you come back from whichever plane of Oblivion he dragged you from?" I yell in return, grinning ferally as the dragon within me roars loudly in agreement, drowning out all other sounds around me.

 _I will pray to my Lady for advice later, if the Daedric Princes are so much more active in this time, she might even answer._ But there's no time – and so I charge, Delphine at my side and Rayya supporting Lydia in the back.

Somehow, we manage to kill it in record time, Lydia's arrows piercing the beast's eye bringing it down to the ground almost instantly, allowing Delphine and I to get in some good hits – the blonde Breton almost beheading the dragon. I really need the design of that sword. As we stand around, panting, Sahloknir's soul races towards me and when the energy hits I let myself fall back onto my ass, tired and rejuvenated at the same time.

"So… You really are…" Delphine breathes. "Dragonborn. I owe you answers, don't I? Ask away."

 **A/N: Yes, Onmund as Archmage. Why? Because if my I-know-maybe-three-spells character can become that, so can any other novice.**


	38. Misunderstood

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): More Delphine, follows canon almost exactly because I need a solid background, Cultural misunderstanding**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _So… You really are…" Delphine breathes. "Dragonborn. I owe you answers, don't I? Ask away."_

Chapter 38 – Misunderstood

Needless to say, the entire way she accompanies us back to Whiterun is wrought with questions from all three members of my little group. Rayya, especially, sounds incredible interested.

 _Does she want to join up with the Blades? If she can't because she's my Housecarl… Wait. Housecarl. I almost forgot._

"Hold on, Rayya?" I ask her while Delphine and Lydia are in a discussion about one handed versus two handed wielding. I have to jog to catch up with her, since she's been scouting ahead a little.

"You're my Housecarl, right? Which means you protect me in exchange for… what, exactly? Of course I provide everyone who travels with me with food and gear, but is there a standard payment?"

The Redguard blinks at me a few times. "I thought you knew?"

"I have no experience with Thaneship whatsoever, other than helping whoever needs help, even though I'm Thane in three different holds. Jarl Idgrod of Morthal understood that, and thus gave me something I could use rather than a weapon, and no Housecarl or anything… As far as I'm aware at least. I've never met any Housecarls in Hjaalmarch, in any case. But. I'm getting off topic. Am I expected to pay you, and if so, how much?"

"Well… The payment really depends on the Thane or court member the Housecarl works for. I've heard horror stories about a man called Erikur, up in Solitude, who only pays his Housecarl forty septims a week! A single bottle of mead costs up to twenty septims, if you need a reference. It's truly dependent on Housecarl and Thane. I only need to eat for myself, but others have a family to provide for."

I stare at her briefly at her brief story, before turning my eyes ahead in contemplation.

"Do you also need them when I… have no need of your services at the time?"

"No. The jarls provides basic necessities, in that case. They grant us eighty a week for housing, food and the likes. There aren't many thanes in the smaller holds for a reason. I hunted my own meat and sold what I didn't need to get around properly. I also worked at the mill or farm and took on bounties from time to time. Once I hunted down a man who'd brutally slaughtered a little girl."

 _I see…_

 _Hunted down a killer on her own, aye? She must be tough, even though, surprisingly, we haven't run into any dragons so far and I can't judge her mettle accurately until one of those overgrown lizards comes knocking._

 _But I had no idea I had to pay my Housecarls a wage. I should endeavour to better inform myself in the future. I might make mistakes that won't be as easily tolerated._

 _Ugh. Just when you think you've acclimatized to the local culture…_

"You must think I'm a lousy Thane." I comment casually as I absently pick some blue mountain flowers by the side of the road to sell off later.

She chortles lightly, drawing the attention from the other two to us.

"I have seen worse, my Thane. You could have ordered me to provide… Other services."

For a few beats, I can only stare, not really grasping what she is referring to. _Chopping wood? Buying supplies herself? Delving into a Nordic ruin in my stead?_

"What sort of 'service' are you talking about? I'm not sending you into any tombs by yourself, rest assured."

She seems uneasy all of a sudden, her hands reaching for her weapons in an instinctual response as her eyes glance down and away as if abashed. She worries her lower lip between her teeth for a few seconds, probably to formulate a reply. I wait patiently for her to answer, curious yet apprehensive because Rayya seems so unflappable, normally.

"Some in a position of power wish for their subordinates to fulfil… certain needs. Sexual favours, if I must be crude."

 _Is she… Does she mean…_

 _She's kidding, right?_

"You're joking. Surely someone wouldn't… _"_

"I am afraid not my Thane."

 _Is making love truly so undervalued in this society? But… But it's the most sacred act two people can perform together! The closest thing to 'holy' as one that isn't a priest can go! Gods, the mere thought of being able to ASK one of my Housecarls to… Ugh, I think I might be sick…_

I pause in my walking, leaning against a tree stump to steady myself as the sheer revulsion makes me want to vomit my lunch all over the dried grass.

"But – But – But doesn't having sex mean you're _married_?" I finally manage to croak out, aghast.

 _I haven't been THIS disgusted since I was almost literally drowning in Falmer guts!_

Rayya stops dead in her tracks, and I can see Delphine's eyes widen and Lydia crack a weird half-smile. As their gazes swivel towards me, I wince.

Of all the follow-up reactions I'd expected, raucous laughter from all three women wasn't what I'd been expecting.

"NO! Ahaha! Sweet Arkay, hah! No!" Rayya utters, but she's laughing too hard to give more of an answer.

I'm starting to get a little flustered and also angry at their laughter, my ears and face burning red like beacons. Delphine, too, is nearly on the ground, a far cry from the stoic and serious woman I'd come to think of her as.

 _But making love is one of the most important things – how can they even laugh about this? It's sacrilegious!_

Lydia is the one who comes to my rescue, in the end. She seems a whole lot more at ease now, the gleam in her eyes almost endearing towards me. _Save me from what I think she's thinking._

Then the ice queen, cool as a cucumber and stoic as a rock, pinches my cheek between her calloused fingers as if I were five summers old.

"That is so innocent of you, my Thane," she crows. For once, the title doesn't sound like poison as it passes her lips.

"Though most prefer to only have sex with their partner, it's quite common for people of varying races to seek each other out on cold winter nights, or just for fun, when they're not wed. In Skyrim, if you want to marry, you wear an amulet of Mara, allowing interested prospective partners to come to you. Then there's a short ceremony in the Temple of Mara in Riften. To most, life is too short to make courtship a drawn-out process, and as long as the love is genuine, Mara approves." She explains.

I frown contemplatively. I can't say I'm entirely satisfied with her explanation, because it gives me even more questions about the culture of Skyrim – and other provinces too. What's the usual length for courting here? Is there such a thing? Is it formalized through gifts and gaining maternal approval, like it was back in Nchuand-zel?

"Okay."

 _Hold on, is… Is Lydia… Was Lydia so cold to me because she feared… That's… Ugh. Human men are disgusting sometimes. Abhorrent. Wait, are elves like that too?_

… _I need a bath, I feel filthy all of a sudden. And nauseous._

"Is it not the same in your culture?" Rayya asks after she and Delphine have recovered and we're on our way again.

"Not at all." I answer immediately, looking at the dirty cobblestones beneath my feet briefly before turning my eyes to the clouded sky. How to best formulate something like this?

"We… Courtship can take several years for my people. And sex… Making love is something _sacred_. Giving all of yourself to your partner, and they themselves to you, is the equivalent of a private wedding ceremony in Skyrim, I think. It's often celebrated publicly soon after, but…"

 _It's something most prefer to keep secret until after the ceremony. It's not like that at ALL here. So… Marcurio didn't… marry? And…_

 _Oh._

 _Oh dear._

 _Marcurio didn't marry that whore, then._

 _I – I messed up something big, didn't I?_

 _Shit._

 _What does an Amulet of Mara look like, anyway?_

"I… I think I might have made a mistake." I murmur under my breath, picking at a scabbed cut on my finger and sighing.

 _I might have had a chance… even a small one, after all… I bet I can forget about it now. After the way I acted, how I let jealousy consume me – it's proof that I'd be a shitty partner, if Marcurio was ever even interested in men – or elves, really, in the first place._

 _He's never going to look twice at me now, if I were to cross paths with him again._

 _I messed up._

"Oh well," I try, with clearly forced cheer, "I suppose I should have expected to run into a cultural difference I didn't know about eventually…"

 _But for the love of Sithis, why did it have to happen now? And why about something as frigging important as THIS?!_

I am very quiet for the remainder of the journey. Internally though, my mind is louder than it has ever been – even if it's mostly incoherent screeching at myself for being an uninformed _idiot._

At last, I see something to temporarily take my mind off of my social faux-pas:

The Khajit caravan is in Whiterun now.

But it's the middle of the day and I have three people with me whom I do not trust, _cannot_ fully trust, and I cannot sneak away without a good enough excuse. I take solace in the fact that Lydia seems a whole lot less frigid, though still offhanded towards me.

I ignore the cat people as they go about their day – I spot my target amongst them, goofing off with one of the others, and bite my lip.

 _He will have to die eventually._

 _I mean, I will have to kill him eventually._

It can wait. For now, we're headed for Riverwood to discuss the upcoming Thalmor party… and presumably, how I'm going to get in.

…

As things turn out, I'll be in time for Vittoria Vicci's wedding… So early, in fact, that I've two weeks to spare. Two weeks to recover from a suicide mission into the Thalmor Embassy while Rayya and Lydia stay at the Winking Skeever and do… whatever it is girls do when they're left to their own devices. I gave both of them a thousand septims to spend as they wish while I sit at a table with a very nervous Bosmer contact.

"Our mutual friend send me." I decide to start off, leaning backwards comfortably in the wooden chair opposite him.

Malborn is… decidedly not impressed. "Really, you're who she picked? I hope she knows what she's doing."

 _To be completely honest, I hope so too. With a spy like this I'll be in trouble before I'm even through the doors of the Winking Skeever._

 _Not to mention how badly I stand out compared to most other races. I barely share any semblance with them, and while an uninformed party could probably mistake me for a mixed blood Dunmer-Breton… It's a far shot._

"Here's the deal. I can smuggle some equipment into the Embassy for you. Not too much, it'll have to fit in my bag. Take what you can't live without and I'll make sure it gets in. The rest is up to you."

Sounds… promising?

 _So, I will need Healing and Stamina potions, some picks for eventual locks I'll need to open, and a weapon or two._ I give him one of my axes, my dagger, potions and picks.

After a moment's hesitation, I also add my grandfather's amulet to the small pile. I haven't taken it off since I woke up on my stone bed all that time ago, and it feels strange not to have the familiar weight around my neck.

 _I'll endure it until I get into the Embassy._ I hope, pressing my lips together tightly. "Here's all I'll need." _I've fought without armour before. And the Thalmor, once I'm through with them, won't miss a set of elven gear._

"Okay, I'll get this into the Embassy for you. I've got to go now."

Now all that's left is to wait for nightfall to meet with Delphine, and then attend the party. Tonight.

 _I will not be getting a moment's rest for the rest of my life, will I?_

As I watch the elf leave, I understand what Delphine meant when she said he wasn't suited for high risk missions. He's well on his way to be suspected before he even gets to the Embassy if he keeps his face contorted like that.

After a few moments, Lydia takes his place. "Are you ready, my Thane?"

I shake my head honestly. "I don't think I'll ever be. But who knows, there might be some old friends there." I eye her muscled arms and let my lip twitch upwards into a sly smile.

 _All of a sudden, I'm having a wonderful idea._

"Why don't you come with me to meet Delphine?"

Rayya, who's listening to the entire exchange, sees the way I'm looking and huffs in amusement. "I will come to, if you wish, my Thane."

Agreeing easily, I let them lead me to the stables. I ignore the small stab of guilt at planning to use the two women like this.

 _Well… Someone will need to watch over my armour and all the other stuff I'm carrying while I'm at the party._

The path is dark and badly lit, our footsteps bouncing off the high stone walls until they make place for a cliff on one side, and mountains on the other. The wildlife is buzzing and rustling around the undergrowth, and the sky is clear and full of stars, the moons glowing brightly.

 _A beautiful night to go ruin a Thalmor party, if there ever was one._

"Have you given everything you wanted to smuggle in to Malborn?" Delphine asks, looking me up and down. "Didn't you think of your armour?" I shrug.

 _This is currently my only set, I'm not walking around naked._

"I doubt the Thalmor will miss a set once I get there." The blonde huffs even as Lydia sighs, having deduced the real reason why I still wear my armour, no doubt.

"Fair enough. Here, I got you an invitation to the party. But the only way you're getting in is when you look the part. Which means you can't be armed to the teeth. Put these on, behind the mill if you must. I'm sure your friends will keep your gear safe."

Lydia face palms even as Rayya claps her on the back. "You didn't think he was going to let us do whatever while he's risking his life, did you? Taking care of his armour and weapons is the least we can do."

The Nord woman gives me a sideways look even as I unclip the chest piece and the bracers, carefully putting them down next to my boots. "I am sworn to carry your burdens." She sounds exasperated, and I snigger even as I duck behind the mill.

 _No need to let everyone see my underwear. Good thing I managed to take a bath earlier, or this would not have gone over well even WITH the fancy outfit._

… _Mellte would have laughed his ass off at this. It's the pigtail-incident all over again._

'Fancy' being a relative term. I honestly feel a little ridiculous in the red-brownish robes. I adjust the cuffs on my wrists self-consciously as I step back out from cover, carefully watching the women for their reactions and hoping they won't laugh.

Lydia raises an eyebrow. Rayya stays neutral and Delphine – "I guess that will have to do. At least until you open your mouth."

Now it's my turn to copy Lydia's expression.

"I can be perfectly polite and eloquent enough to pass for a noble, ma'am, if the occasion calls for it and I feel acting thusly is beneficial to my own ends." I drawl mock-haughtily, even as I'm brought to a carriage and give away all my other worldly possessions to my Housecarls, feeling very naked and uncomfortable doing so.

Delphine only snorts, but the tight line of her shoulders relaxes a bit.

 _I guess… I can trust my Housecarls this much. Or put faith in their ability not to mess up and lose my stuff, in any case._

Only armed with my wit, my quality party clothes, and my Thu'um – _Which will see liberal use, not doubt –_ I listen to the Blade.

"…Just make sure you get out alive with the information you need. Good luck." She ends, and I nod solemnly at her once, before getting into the carriage and hoping that the invitation clutched in my hands is either genuine or a forgery good enough to pass.

 _Regardless, it will have to do,_ I think grimly, watching the night sky and falling into meditation to calm my racing heart from beating far too fast, and keep my clammy hands from sporadically twitching into fists.

By the time I get to the Thalmor Embassy, I have my best game face on – shamelessly stolen from Ondolemar. Appear calm and aloof, even vaguely amused by what's happening around you, while absolutely, blindly panicking on the inside.

 _You can say what you want about the Thalmor, but their techniques are highly effective. Hah, I wonder if my favourite Altmer is attending tonight?_

I get off the cart and leisurely approach the guard standing near the stairs with a torch. "Welcome to the Thalmor Embassy. Your invitation, please." I keep my face neutral as I hand over the fragile piece of paper Delphine had shoved into my hands. Luckily, it didn't get crinkled.

"Certainly."

The guard eyes me for a moment, but I pretend to inspect another guest as he arrives briefly before turning back to her. "Thank you sir. Go right in." I spare her a small, respectful nod, before heading up the stairs quickly, rubbing my arm and not having to fake the shiver from the cold. _Skyrim is lovely, but it would be even lovelier if not for this cold._

I step through the doors before the other guest does – _must be Nord, if he can stand waiting out here this long –_ and am almost immediately faced with the first challenge: The big bad lady herself. I keep all my reactions at a minimum, only showing vague pleasantness and interest when the Altmer approaches.

 _Ondolemar likened her to a Daedric Prince on several occasions. She really must be something, to hide it this well. Very well, let's see if I can still play this game after almost a year of not dealing with unpleasant extended family._

"Welcome." Her voice is grating. Like she yelled and screamed too much and damaged the chords permanently – probably yells at her subordinates. "I don't believe we've met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And you are..?"

 _Gods, this is going to be like dealing with auntie Murid all over again._

 **A/N: Re-uploaded the last chapter because Delphine is not a Nord, thank you** **hunter81095** **for pointing it out! Also FF wouldn't let me update this early, sorry for the lateness!**


	39. Embassy

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Thalmor, politics, trolling jarls, mentioned gore.**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _I don't believe we've met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And you are..?"_

Chapter 39 - Embassy

 _Who am I?_

 _I am going to be your biggest problem of the night…heh. Not that you'll know._

I plaster a friendly, vaguely familiar smile on my face.

"My name is Fjaldi. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She doesn't seem pacified much, but I was expecting that.

 _Let the semi-political games begin._

I let my smile transform into a proud smirk pretending not to take note on the sharpening of her eyes. Smoothly, I continue my introduction.

"I am one of the current leading experts on Dwemer in Tamriel, visiting Skyrim to oversee any current expeditions. You might have heard of me from my esteemed colleague, Calcelmo, who is currently stationed in Markarth. It's always a joy to hold an intelligent conversation with peers, I've found, when compared to most of Skyrim's native… Residents." I make sure to inject a little venom in my voice when talking about the Nords. I'm sure she'll like that.

And right now my goal is to make her tolerate me without asking too many questions, so I may slip away easily and without raising alarm immediately. If she distrusts me, the guards will keep a closer eye. If she likes me too much… Err, I don't even want my own thoughts to venture there.

Judging by the easing of her shoulders and the lightening of her eyes with interest, I've said the right things so far. "I see. How fascinating. Perhaps we may talk of your exploits later, Dwemer had such… marvellous inventions."

 _Weaponry, no doubt._ I nod in agreement, inwardly wincing. _I hope she'll be too busy attending to other things to actually inquire to my people's skill in warfare._

With that, I plaster the neutral look back on my face and move ahead to the rest of the party, while Elenwen gets distracted by the other guest, 'Razelan', entering.

A small note in the back of my mind: He seems to cause problems often. It might come in handy later.

I take into account which faces I recognise, and which ones I don't. A blonde Nord I don't know, Razelan, a woman who may or may not be the Jarl of Solitude, Jarl Balgruuf, Jarl Idgrod… and Ondolemar. Now there's a face I'm truly glad to see. But first, I should at least give the impression of socialising… With my jarls. Jarl Balgruuf to start off with, I suppose.

"This gathering is nothing more than a boast! The Thalmor are reminding us we are at their beck and call. But my friend, I admit I hadn't thought to see you here." I give him a small grin.

"Neither had I, to be fair. This isn't the usual venue I'd seek out to get a fine bottle of mead."

The jarl spends a few minutes eyeing me shrewdly. "Something tells me it's not the mead that brought you here tonight." My grin sharpens.

"Not at all, my Jarl. But I must admit the conversation is marvellous."

He returns the grin. "Indeed. You used your status to trick that elf into trusting your word. Consider it a tactic I approve of."

I blink at him innocently. "But my Jarl, I only spoke the truth! In fact, Calcelmo asked me to drop by to help him with his book." At this point, Idgrod Ravencrone seamlessly moves herself into the conversation.

"Truly, you're more interesting than I'd thought! Is there anything you need, dear Thane of mine?" I shake my head ruefully.

"Not at the moment. There is one last person I ought to speak with before… conducting my business here." I glance at the Ambassador briefly, to see her eyes on me. I let my face shift into a curious smile and turn back to my jarls.

The Ambassador is interested in me alright.

"Though… If it isn't too much trouble, could either of you manage to get Elenwen off my case? I think I caught her interest… In the worst sort of way." Perhaps an exaggeration, but it has the intended effect as Balgruuf's face shifts into one of disgust… before he brightens with a gleam wickedly similar to Nelkir's plotting face.

"She won't be overhearing your conversation with your friend, I assure you. Give us a few minutes."

While he and Jarl Idgrod set to plotting, I order a drink from an increasingly twitchy Malborn and drift closer to Ondolemar, who's eyebrows lift upwards briefly in surprise, his pristine Thalmor robes swishing with every step.

I can feel Elenwen's eyes on us, and desperately hope that my Altmer friend doesn't bring up something sensitive, or even calls me 'friend'. I want to avoid odd questions, after all.

"None of these people care a wit about the religious aspects of this war. Another sign of the degeneracy of your Empire… No offense meant, of course." He begins in a dull, placating tone, and I know for sure that I need not have worried.

"Head Justiciar Ondolemar. It has been a while since we last spoke." I mumble pleasantly, staying carefully neutral in the midst of enemy territory.

"Too long, I would say. Intelligent conversation seems to be increasingly rare in Markarth. Your colleague has done little more than devote himself to his research and his books since you passed through." I feign embarrassment, scratching my cheek and glancing to the side briefly.

"Has he now? Well, one must admire his dedication, if nothing else. I ought to stop by and remind him to eat sometime. He will be of no use to my own research should he perish. What a dreadful shame it would be to never hear his _fascinating_ theories again." The drawl in my voice is mocking, jesting, and it draws a sliver of a smile from my friend, who merely nods.

We both know Understone Keep would be a better place if Calcelmo didn't feel the need to prattle on and on for hours to every poor soul that asked the wrong question.

Right then, I see my favourite two jarls walk up close to Elenwen and start a hushed discussion, Jarl Idgrod exclaiming 'My, such thing I did not foresee! Surely you jest!' Incredulously, just loud enough to draw the First Emissary's attention.

I quickly turn to Ondolemar. "I need a scene. I need to slip out of this party without anyone noticing." I whisper to him, and he nods sharply, once, before pausing.

"Or, I could just give you a brief 'tour' of the Embassy since you are such a trusted individual to the Head Justiciar. I might even be able to slip you whatever you need."

 _Now we're getting somewhere._

"No, my gear is still squirreled away somewhere. But it would be wonderful if you could go ahead, through the kitchens and then to wherever the 'Solar' is. _"_

My friend grins conspiratorially, glancing sideways to where the jarls are still having all of Elenwen's attention, seemingly having a ball by talking increasingly louder over some poor sod's secret affair.

"I will go now and take over the guard's post at the Solar entrance. Until then."

After he leaves, I wait a few minutes, loitering about and listening to other people's conversation, Jarl Balgruuf and Idgrod having stopped their conversation due to Balgruuf 'needing stronger drink if he was going to speak of that'. I then make my way over to the guest that entered after me after grabbing another drink, sitting next to him and offering it.

He expresses his thanks profusely, and I almost, almost feel guilty about using him so blatantly. "Could you give me a distraction?"

As the crowd gathers around the man, I swiftly make my way past Idgrod, who only whispers 'good luck, friend' before I duck into the kitchens with Malborn. _Seems like I have a minimum of four people at my side in this. Hah! And Delphine so harshly stressed that I'd be alone._

After Malborn guides me through the kitchen and opens a chest that hold my gear, he tells me I'm on my own. _No, I just have to move until I find my Altmer friend._ My grandfather's amulet sits comfortably on my collarbone, back where it belongs.

The first hallway is empty, and I briefly wonder why until I carefully sneak ahead and hear voices of guards, talking with each other in the next room. "Did you see those robes march in this morning? Who are they with? More or the Emissary's treaty enforcers?" For a brief moment, I'm confused.

 _Robes? Do the Thalmor have walking clothing articles? How does that work? Or do they fly? I think it might just be another one of those linguistic quirks –_

"No, they're high mages, just in from Alinor. I guess Herself is finally getting worried about all these dragon attacks."

 _Elenwen, worried? Good._

I move ahead as quietly as I can, ignoring their conversation but keeping an eye out for any movements they make as I sneak past them, ducking behind a pillar when their conversation finishes and just barely avoiding getting caught. I hope their ears aren't sharp enough to hear my accelerated heartbeat or sharp intake of breath when they suddenly go back to their rounds.

 _I have to find Ondolemar. Also, I should have brought in an invisibility potion. Or five._

Somehow, I manage to pass them by without incident, making it out into the courtyard after snagging a set of Thalmor gear. Lock picks aren't meant to hold the heavy fabric up so as not to make me look like a child playing dress-up, but the robes are too large on me and short of cutting off parts of the sleeves and ends, there's no way to make it fit. Shortly after putting the clothing on, I tear it all off again.

 _This plan would have been viable had I been three feet taller. Damnit._

Nevertheless, the courtyard will prove a huge problem. Unless Ondolemar helps, I might have to resort to killing them all. I have no Shouts in my repertoire that may make me invisible. I CAN slow time to make my way to the other side and barge into the Solar, but that, too, poses a risk.

I gnaw on my bottom lip from where I'm crouched in the shadows, only able to see a lone Thalmor wizard ahead. A brief exhale is the only outward sign of my displeasure.

 _I sincerely hope that my Housecarls don't start rooting through my gear. I have my Dark Brotherhood uniform – Shit, I left my Dark Brotherhood clothing with Lydia and Rayya! The enchantments would have really helped right now… And I don't want them to find out about my involvement with the assassins._

But, now is not the time to be worried about anything other than the matter at hand, so I reluctantly push the matter aside.

A sudden yell, of an unfamiliar voice: "What did you just say?!" draws the attention of all High Elves in the courtyard, and I grab the chance with both hands, hurrying along the snowed-over path, hating the way the snow crunches under my feet.

Instead of walking straight across the courtyard, thus showing my face to all the people here, I nimbly cross to the other high path, where there currently aren't any guards since everyone seems concerned with the discussion between Ondolemar and another Altmer.

"I said, that if you are so concerned about the college since Ancano… left, I'd be more than willing to take your place as potential new overseer. After all, unlike…some, I am a, shall we say, _competent_ justiciar."

The corners of my lips twitch upwards even as I press myself against the wall right next to the solar. I watch from the shadows, intrigued as Ondolemar sighs condescendingly, shaking his head minimally.

"Of course, I only ask you consider. I daresay none will be able to take my station in Markarth, considering the politically _sensitive_ situations currently afoot there. Being subtle enough to handle such a… _delicate_ operation has never been your style, has it, Mirulien? I believe we have all seen how you carry yourself in such operations in Firsthold, hmm?"

The other Thalmor agent, Mirulien, stands proud and annoyed in front of the door. The entrance to my ultimate goal. I tilt my head sideways, just enough to allow Ondolemar to glimpse me, and then the Altmer smirks.

"Why don't you ask the First Emissary, if my comments concern you so?"

The smaller wizard proceeds to make the Thalmor equivalent of a huff and leaves for the other building. While all eyes turn to other places, Ondolemar enters the solar. Once I'm sure nobody is paying attention to the entrance, I slip between the crack, grinning at my friend as he shuts the door securely behind him, blocking it with a broad beam of wood.

"We ought to make haste. It won't be long before someone notices you left the party."

"I don't call that a party. I call that a political gathering. I hate those." I reply dully, dutifully staying in Ondolemar's shadow.

Inside the solar, a man is talking to yet another Thalmor mage. "But I need that money! I earned it." The smaller of the two is saying as I duck behind a pillar, letting Ondolemar wait at the entrance patiently. The mage is talking about not making presumptions. _Whoever Gissur is, I almost pity him. Almost._

As Ondolemar finally decides to step into the conversation, his status as Head Justiciar allowing him some leeway, I sneak into the small office area. It's rather barren. A desk, a chair, a few shelves, and the jackpot. That is, a chest filled with documents.

 _Let's see here… Dragon investigation, aye? Sounds like the Thalmor don't know as much as they like to admit. A key is always useful somehow, this one doesn't have a label though, I wonder what door it's for? And… A-ha! Thalmor Dossier: Delphine and… Ulfric Stormcloak?_ Confused, I take all three files. Delphine only wants the dragon investigation one. She need not know that I acquired a little more than the necessary information. I wonder what Ulfric has to do with the Thalmor. This has to be good.

I wait for the Thalmor interrogator – so that's what he is – to lead Ondolemar downstairs a the latter's prompting.

"I wish to see for myself how far you have gotten. There must still be something missing, or he would not still be alive, correct?" My friend asks as they enter through the sturdy iron door, probably leading into dungeons of some sort.

 _Ondolemar is going to get in trouble for this, isn't he? Maybe I can… convince him to come along with me._

But for now there's no time to waste, and I follow after the interrogator, happy to find that the key I found earlier fits perfectly once I see the door has been locked again. Before passing, I take a deep breath of the stuffy air before moving through what's like an invisible barrier, blocking out the reek of bodily fluids, blood, and death.

A shudder passes through me. _Wait… Can I even trust Ondolemar? The Thalmor are looking for me, after all, or so Nazir said._ There's no going back now. If I made a mistake, it will likely be my last.

There's another chest behind the interrogator. I don't know what's in it. But I have a feeling it's important. As if on cue, Ondolemar opens the chest and takes out a worn journal.

"This is everything?"

"Yes, Head Justiciar. We believe he is hiding out in Riften, in the sewers under the street."

"As befits a rat on the run." My friend states mildly, making eye contact with me before his gaze moves to the Thalmor soldier standing at attention next to the bars where a haggard, heavily injured prisoner is kept and groaning.

I nod once, slowly moving ahead even as I spot Ondolemar draw an Elven dagger from underneath his robes. "Has the First Emissary tried her hand yet?"

"Not yet, she seems to be too busy with the other problems that have come up. They still cannot get even a basic profile of the Dragonborn. If the people of Skyrim rally behind him, we might have… More trouble than our contingent can handle. Skyrim might even be lost to us, in the worst case."

I'm stumped for all of a second, _I could have so much influence?_ The second, the hitched breath, is enough to alert the soldier in front of me.

"Who's the-?"

An unnoticeable 'snap' sounds near my neck, disregarded and ignored in the following chaos.

But I'm already pouncing, burying my dagger in her eye even as Ondolemar smoothly slits the interrogator's throat. _I don't even know the bastard's name._ Once we've ensured they're dead, I free the prisoner after he reveals both who the Thalmor are hunting and how to get out of the Embassy.

Ondolemar gives me a single nod when I look at him. "The prisoner is correct. We must leave immediately."

"W-wait! You're with the Thalmor! Is this a trap?" I shake my head just as shouts echo from upstairs. I turn just as Malborn comes running into the room, two elves on his tail. A few beats pass as everyone, shocked, assesses the situation. My heart jumps to my throat and my eyes go wide. _We've been caught!_

Then Ondolemar fells the soldiers with a wave of electricity, grim and expectant.

"Fjaldi. I cannot stay here. They will kill me." The High elf says shakily, and I don't wait a second longer before running up to the elves, searching for a key to the locked trap door the prisoner – Etienne – is crouched over.

 _We can't waste another second._

"Great, now I'll be hunted by the Thalmor for the rest of my life. I hope it was worth it." Malborn complains worriedly and I send him a scorching glare.

"I don't think they'll fucking prioritize _you_ over the rogue Justiciar and the Dragonborn, Wood elf." I bite, getting a curious look from Etienne as I wrench open the trap door. "Everyone stay behind me! Who knows what kind of filth lives down here." I order, before jumping down the bloodied chute into a cavern.

Where's my amulet? _Where's my amulet?_

Luckily, other than a frost troll, a vomit-inducing stench, and an _inhumane_ amount of blood and rotting corpses, we don't encounter much trouble in our journey to the exit.

The night sky and fresh air have never been more welcoming – and I've delved into ancient crypts for days on end. Taking a deep, shuddering breath I fiddle with my torn, bloody sleeve as Etienne thanks me. I hand him my coat before he takes off. Malborn sticks around for a few minutes longer than I anticipated.

"So, you're the Dragonborn. No wonder Delphine chose you. What convinced the Thalmor, though?" I nearly groan at Ondolemar's less-than-impressed glare, before tugging at the Altmer's robes. "Let's go someplace warm and dry first. Then I'll get you some new clothes. You're coming with me for now, if that's okay with you?"

The elf nods solemnly. "Go, and I will follow. I have nowhere else to go." I give the man a considering glance. "Not _yet_. I have contacts in several associations across Skyrim. We'll get you an alias later."

 _Now, I just want my bed at the Winking Skeever, and of course, my armour. But… My pendant…_ I only allow myself a brief glance over my shoulder and a shaky sigh. I can't go back in there, not if I don't want to be caught. My pendant… Grandfather's pendant… Gone.

 _I need to put it behind me._

… _I don't want to leave behind the last anchor to my past, the final proof that my life Before wasn't just a fever dream, but I… I have no choice._

"I'll also attend a wedding in two weeks. Afterwards, I'm possibly-maybe-certainly getting us both into Stormcloak territory." I quickly check – no, Malborn has run off.

"I have blackmail on Ulfric Stormcloak and a house in the city of Windhelm where we can rest up, if no better ideas come to me along the way." Another nod.

He's really stressed. I suppose I should be, too. The Thalmor were after me already – now, they'll probably go berserk at seeing my face. I purse my lips, pressing them tightly into a thin line as we take off.

 _I wish I could go back to when things were easier._

 **A/N: Last week I was a day late, so now I'll just upload a day early! Heads up: updates might be a tad more sporadic, though I'll try to stick to my schedule. I've got a pretty tough exam period coming up. I'd love your thoughts on this chapter!**


	40. Stacking Problems

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): More Delphine, Fjaldi finally realises that there are Problems.**

END OF CHAPTER HAS A BONUSSSS!

 _ **Last time…**_

 _The Thalmor were after me already – now, they'll probably go berserk at seeing my face. I purse my lips, pressing them tightly into a thin line as we take off. I wish I could go back to when things were easier._

Chapter 40 – Stacking Problems

Eventually, we make the decision to let Ondolemar wait for me outside the gates, hidden next to Solitude's largest watch tower while I get my companions and my gear.

Lydia and Rayya look murderous when I arrive, but my appearance must have thrown them off for they fall quiet when I enter the room. My party clothes are a mess, and though I was victorious in that I got the information I came for, I feel myself being dragged down with panic, worry, and confusion.

"We leave now." I book no argument, and after swiftly changing into my armour and downing a stamina potion, I raid one of the wardrobes in the inn and empty it of clothing.

Even stolen goods are better than Thalmor robes – but the experience of squirreling away items that don't belong to me under the heavy gazes of two people I'm supposed to take care of and who are not allowed to go against me even if they want to leaves a decidedly sour taste in my mouth.

They're even less happy when Ondolemar steps out of the shadows and accepts the offered items, smartly not asking where I got them from on such short notice.

"My Thane, what is going on?" Lydia finally snaps as we're on the road south in the darkness. "First, we find – we find that damned gear, and now you're taking a Thalmor with us?"

I glare at her, more than a little high-strung and acutely aware of the fact that Thalmor have horses and manpower. "I got the info. I'll explain everything once we're somewhere safe. Like, halfway across the province. Where's Delphine?" The Nord woman lets out a frustrated growl, and it's Rayya who answers.

"Left. To Riverwood. My Thane… we need horses if we are to cover a lot of ground quickly."

Freezing on the spot, I'm forced to consider her words. "Do I have the funds?"

"Enough for six steeds." I bite my lip.

Then: "Get two horses, if there are enough available. We'll double up. Riverwood is our new top priority."

 _Shit. What am I going to do? Ondolemar can't show his face anywhere, Lydia and Rayya mistrust me, I have a feeling that attending the Vicci wedding is of key importance, the Thalmor will be crawling all over the place and – oh Sithis._

I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, trying to cull an oncoming panic attack in vain as Rayya and Lydia leave to get horses. Ondolemar draws soothing circles on my back, not much better off himself. "If I am a burden, I can -"

"No." I mutter decisively. "You got into this because of me. Getting you someplace safe is the very least I can do."

 _Is – Is Winterhold college neutral ground? Can I ask something like this from Onmund? Why, Delphine, why did you run off?_

Another deep breath. _Endure. Stay calm and seek for a suitable solution. Step by step. Step… By step._ Breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out. Wait. Repeat.

Eventually, two horses, both with riders, approach us. I climb onto a nearby rock in order to get up behind Ondolemar, vaguely wondering how his other elf guard is doing, the one who helped me up that horse over a year ago, even as Lydia smoothly seats herself behind Rayya.

 _I'm not happy._ One might even argue that I'm downright chagrined. Knowing that I'm currently not really faced with a choice, I silently resign myself to sitting and being in pain for the foreseeable future.

"I have to be back in Solitude in the third week of Hearthfire." I mumble to Ondolemar, leaning into his back with a groan. "I'll figure something out." _I'm not even capable of convincing myself._

"Perhaps you could tell me about those associations." The Altmer requests over the sound of beating hooves as we downright gallop across the mountainous path.

"There's the College of Winterhold – the Arch-mage is a good friend of mine. I'm Thane in several holds so I might be able to at least get you temporary asylum. I can also get you to the Greybeards, if Delphine doesn't want you in the Blades. I have… one more, but as a last resort only."

"Sounds like we've more options that you let on!" The Mer grumbles, tightening the reigns and spurring the horse on to go even faster. For a few hours, we're all silent, and only once we've crossed the bridge into Whiterun hold does Rayya speak up.

"My Thane. We want an explanation for the Dark Brotherhood gear in your pack."

I stay quiet for a few moments more, my mind racing. _I knew they'd find out, damnit. Now how do I put this in a way that will not have me killed? Nazir was right about the 'several weeks to survive' trope._ I glare holes into Ondolemar's back.

"They sent one after me. An assassin, I mean."

 _Lie. Lie. Lie. Ugh, I might just grow to hate myself. First I catch myself relishing in blood and battle, then I steal like some lowlife thief, and now this!_

Rayya scowls darkly. "When?"

"Falkreath, that night that Marcurio…" I trail off uncertainly. It won't do to create any bad blood before he and Ondolemar ever meet again properly, after all. But bless her, the Redguard understands and nods.

"Tell us things like this in the future. We are supposed to protect you, after all."

 _Aye, but you won't always be there, will you?_

I grit my teeth and shift, the pain in my legs and hips and – well, my whole body not alleviated by the movement in the least. "Let's take a quick break." Ondolemar suggests, and for once nobody gives any sign of protest as I immediately let myself practically fall off the horse, my legs giving out underneath me causing a less-than-stellar case of 'biting the dirt'.

I don't even bother to get back up, staying face-down in the mud and grumbling when Lydia drags me upright.

"You are like a petulant child." The ex-Thalmor in the group helpfully adds, and I only raise an eyebrow as I sit down on a less muddy spot.

"I'm tired. This is the second time in a short period that I've been forced to stay up all night." _I'm also so incredibly worried. I want to go home. By Oblivion, I wish I COULD go home._ I bury my face in my hands, utterly exhausted.

 _I never wanted to be Dragonborn. How do I keep getting myself into trouble again and again? I'm so tired. So done with all of this. I must get Ondolemar to safety. I must go to Delphine to give her the information. I must face Alduin. I must, I must, I must…_

 _When will I get to decide what I WANT to do?_

I want to go after the dragon that keeps showing up in my mind and the strange scholar with the glowing eyes. Not deal with all of this. _But… I must endure. Like the walls of my people and the Animunculi my mother built._ "Alright." I drag myself out of the slump with difficulty, only really schooling my face back into its usual neutrality after eating some food and being back on the horse again.

One year ago I would have already turned tail and quit.

I've grown better and I've grown stronger and acting like a child is beneath me.

My breathing is a little shakier and my hands are more uncertain as we move. I hide my face in the back of Ondolemar's robes and squeeze my eyes shut. _Endure._

My companions let it slide.

I had kind of hoped they wouldn't.

 _Marcurio would get it. He'd listen. And maybe Veezara would, too, if I asked. Not that he'll have much patience for my personal issues. Erandur too would know what I wanted – what I need. I don't know either Rayya or Lydia very well, and Ondolemar is too busy with his own problems._

I bite my lip, straighten my shoulders and push the worry and pain aside. It will come back to bite me, but I can't deal with my emotional turmoil right now.

 _I want my mom. Or a hug._

… _Anything._

But I need to keep it together. The Khajit caravan is still there, I'm acutely aware of it as we pass by the entrance to Whiterun in a hurry. My mind briefly turns to my new 'family'. _No, later._

Delphine and Ondolemar's meeting goes… about as well as is to be expected. That is to say, Rayya restrains the blonde woman as Lydia encourages her, even as I stand between the Blade and my ex-Thalmor friend and try to negotiate at least a temporary truce. When I leave out the information I found about her and Ulfric Stormcloak, Ondolemar finally calms a little.

"This… Esbern. I thought he was dead! Just as I thought that you weren't in league with the Thalmor." Delphine bites.

I exchange glances with Ondolemar. Then: "Lyonmelar is not with the Thalmor. I found him in Markarth and decided to keep him. Surely you've at least heard of him, with your 'network'?" I drawl, ignoring the way my friend is mouthing 'Lyonmelar..?' at me with an incredulous expression.

I don't even snicker as I use the Calling instead, to avoid Delphine listening in. " _You could have introduced yourself with another name earlier._ " The immediate retribution for using my ability in the shape of a pounding headache goes ignored – I'm in pain everywhere, one more place doesn't matter.

It's become harder to use my racial ability lately. Probably due to disuse or because the ones I interact with have no Dwemer minds. I can only hope I don't lose it completely in the near future.

Ondolemar's face falls, but he stays silent and allows me to deal with the angry Delphine. "But then how do you explain why Malborn came to me blabbering about Thalmor turning against one another?" I give her a small smirk.

 _Ugh. Using the Calling again is not going to help._

"You don't think you're the only one who had spies inside the Embassy, do you? Lyonmelar volunteered to keep an eye on any strange movements as part of the mages that recently arrived from Alinor. He got discovered helping me get the information I could have told you wasn't there. He's the reason I knew the Thalmor were after me before I even set foot inside the Embassy, due to my status."

She buys the fabricated story with nothing more than a huff and a last glare at the newly minted 'Lyonmelar'. Lyonmelar… sounds similar to ' _lying'._ It's almost poetry.

"Now, I take it we're going to track down this 'Esbern' before the Thalmor manage to?" I ask after we've all somewhat settled in the now cramped hidden basement. Delphine nods.

"By all accounts, he should be in Riften. I can't afford to face possible Thalmor agents right now, so, you go." I agree hesitantly, not entirely happy with how the woman passes all the risky stuff for me to handle.

 _I thought_ she _was the one supposed to be helping_ me _? I don't think I can place my well-being in her hands in any case. The Greybeards seem to be the better option._

It's also far too risky to take Ondolemar. But he obviously cannot stay with Delphine. I might – hey.

 _Wait a moment_.

I turn to Lydia. "I bought Breezehome."

She nods solemnly. I blink.

"Breezehome is fully furnished."

Another nod. I allow a small grin to cross my face but don't breathe a word just yet.

Once we're back outside, however, I turn to my ragtag group of companions. "Guys, I think I might have a plan."

 **A/N: HEYA YOU GUYS! It's officially my exam season in a couple days and I was in a giving (read: procrastinating) mood so I wrote a little extra just for you! As you may have noticed I LOVE Dwemer lore and adding to it, so, ehehe, I may or may not have written a small 'book' as it would probably be called in Skyrim. I tried to stick to game-compliant lengths for this thing. It's the 'first volume' of what I think might become, like a mini-series since I like how it turned out, though I haven't written more so far. I'd love your thoughts on it!**

 **Oh, and for those wondering: Fjaldi is male, but I have no complaints if you see him as non-binary.**

…

Dwemer Constructs in Skyrim, Vol I.

By: Fjaldi **dû Bthardamz, dûn-ek Nchuand-Zel.**

 _Introduction:_

 _These days, you might know of me by one of many titles I carry. But the first and most honourable title which I may call myself by is that of "Dwemer". During my travels throughout the province of Skyrim, I have come across many of the once great cities of my people. They have been overrun by bandits, trolls, frostbite spiders and other assorted vermin, but the most common creature that now roams the once mighty strongholds is the "Falmer". They are wicked, dangerous, and a far cry from the Snow elves, Snowmer, as I have had the pleasure of meeting long ago._

 _I would go as far as to name these Fallen the "_ _ **Hreth smenvămmerv**_ _". Translated from Dwemeris, it means "Sorrowful shadows". For indeed they are shadows of their great ancestors, and my people have brought their race the sorrow that has forged them into the twisted beings we know now._

 _But when one discusses Falmer, one ought to read the works of the most prominent scholar on the Dwemer we know in this era, Calcelmo, who has studied their culture and artefacts in a manner which I could not even hope to replicate. I have only the intention to mention the Falmer, so that you might be aware of the dangers I have faced in order to create the work which now lies before you._

 _Indeed, I have written this work so that the readers of it might learn more of the Dwemer ruins that dot Skyrim's vast and mountainous landscape, from the point of view of one that has once lived in the cities they used to be. Perhaps one day, the hidden walls and chambers will be revealed to our eyes. I fear I will not have the chance to see them before my time, since only in recent years has nature weathered the stones to the point that they start to give away their most carefully hidden secrets._

 _This volume will discuss the Great Three cities that found entry points into the cavern system of Blackreach._

 _For details on Blackreach itself, see vol. II. However, if you wish to descend into this grand cavern system, I advise you first educate yourself on the only roads that shall lead you to it: Alftand, Raldbthar, and Mzinchaleft._

 _Alftand,_ _ **"Alftand":**_

 _Perhaps one of the constructs that has most surrendered itself to Skyrim's icy climate, Alftand was once a city of great renown, and one of the Great Three that first breached the surface to the cavern system that was latter dubbed "_ _ **Fal Zhardum Din**_ _", which I will go into below. Alftand had been known to other Dwemer cities as a centre of Magical Enlightenment and for their export of Animunculi parts._

 _Alftand's miners were the first Dwemer to lay their eyes upon the glory of what is now known as Blackreach – and the city has fought to retain this privilege throughout the ages and the wars that plagued the Dwemer people, with varying amounts of success. For while Alftand had been the first to discover the cavern, it was later not included in the alliance involving the large amount of Aetherium that was found within Blackreach, as the city had been torn apart by two clans of Dwemer at the time. These two families, whose names may forever be lost to history, specialised in Animunculi technology and the research into the "_ _ **Will of Gods"**_ _respectively – the "Will of Gods" here referring to what little semblance the Dwemer had of priests, traditional magic and religion._

 _Should you ever descend into the ruins, ruined by ice and snow due to broken pipe systems, you will find that the Animonculory and the Cathedral still feature prominently in Alftand. These two locations, alongside the entry point to Blackreach and the glacier through which you will find your way in, are the most prominent features of the ruin._

 _Alftand lies to the southwest of Winterhold and the southeast of Dawnstar._

 _Raldbthar,_ _ **"Raldbthar":**_

 _Raldbthar was the only one of the Great Three to partake in the Aetherium Alliance, and it showed in its wealth and splendour. Even today, much of the city remains intact. It had a prominent role in the Aetherium Alliance in that it was responsible for the mining of raw materials – Aetherium Ore and empty Soul Gems, which both came from geodes and deposits within Blackreach. They created pickaxes from a material similar, yet very different from Dwemer metal, rumoured to have been created with a diamond and ruby alloy capable of hewing out chunks of Aetherium which were then exported to other cities._

 _Raldbthar put much effort in researching, but also in filling Soul Gems, and they were known to have a special force of 'hunters' that had the job to bring in live animals and members of other races, so that the Soul Gems could be sold. This trade in Soul Gems, more so than the near-unworkable Aetherium, made Raldbthar a trading hub for all those interested in magic and Dwemer technology._

 _In an effort to find a geological anomaly similar to Blackreach, the Dwemer living in Raldbthar never stopped their mining activity even after the collapse of the Aetherium Alliance. As far anyone knows, and from what I have found whilst searching the ruins, they did not succeed in this endeavour._

 _When visiting Raldbthar, where it lies to the west of Windhelm just south of the river and east of its neighbour Irkngthand, pay mind to the icy steps outside and the numerous traps just beyond the entrance as they are treacherous._

 _Mzinchaleft,_ _ **"Mzinchaleft":**_

 _My own father went to study at Mzinchaleft, the aptly named "Great House of Learning". This city, unlike many of the others, was not one where many Dwemer spend their entire lives. In fact, it might best be described as a 'campus' or academy similar to the ones found in Cyrodill, where students of the magical arts, history, or any other science live and stay at their academy from the moment of their admittance to their graduation. Aye, perhaps only the professors of Mzinchaleft stay there for longer than a seven year period – the usual length a Dwemer student takes to complete his or her higher education. Mzinchaleft is one of the Great Three, but like Alftand, it did not concern itself with the Aetherium Alliance._

 _Mzinchaleft, being the most recognised institute of learning in Dwemer cities all over Nirn, was as beautiful as it was loud – according to my father, there was never a day in which something or other did not, regrettably or intentionally, explode. There is a reason the city was built over an underground lake, the sight of which I am certain you will enjoy as much as I did, as the winding stone paths elevated just over the water give a certain tranquillity, a chance to calm your mind… As long as you remain alert for any enemies that may attack you, as Mzinchaleft is, as any other city, teeming with Falmer and active Animunculi._

 _The "Great House of Learning" was also one of the last remaining cities to not feed poison to the Snowmer that sought refuge with them. Many successful scientific, magical, and artistic collaborations took place in Mzinchaleft between Snowmer and Dwemer. This was before the High Councillor of the city,_ _ **Njerdzj**_ _, or 'Njerdzj' in contemporary writing, was himself poisoned by one of his prized students,_ _ **Grwertz Ingeit dûn-ek Irkngthand,**_ _the son of one of the most prominent noble families in Irkngthand at the time and an avid supporter of Snowmer enslavement. Grwertz took over the city, and whilst under him the minds of Dwemer flourished, the minds of Snowmer were dulled as they met the same fate as their fellows._

 _Mzinchaleft is located southwest of Dawnstar. To reach it easily, take the path past the windward ruins. The buildings and towers are hard to miss, of this I assure you._


	41. Concerning Conmen

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Let it surprise you.**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _Once we're back outside I turn to my ragtag group of companions. "Guys, I think I might have a plan."_

Chapter 41 – Concerning conmen

It takes no less than three distractions, two quick changes of which path we're creeping along, Lydia striking up a conversation with the gate guards and one very awkward climb over the old stone walls to smuggle Ondolemar into Whiterun without anyone noticing. It's the dead of night, and other than the crickets – which are probably amused at our silly antics – are good company to a Thalmor agent on the run.

When push comes to shove, Jarl Balgruuf supports the empire, even though he despises the Thalmor he might sell my friend out if he felt it necessary to protect his hold.

Breezehome is warm, cosy and stocked with enough food and money to last the two of my companions for quite some time. I leave Lydia with Ondolemar so that he doesn't have to show his face in public, and so that the elf has company that isn't out for his blood… and has orders to protect him, be it from political enemies or malevolent characters in general.

Walking out of the city, in comparison, is far easier, since the guards all know that I 'made a quick stop for some supplies, those bandits are real nuisances aren't they, had to drop my supplies right into the river -' and Rayya and I leave without encountering any unwelcome surprises.

 _Well, unwelcome in the traditional sense._

We're at the stables and Rayya woke the stablemaster to sell off one of the horses. The whinnying and neighing has the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge – I hate it when excessive noise is made at this time of night, and it's even worse since it's because of _horses. Ugh._

The stable master at least seems happy about it, regardless of the hour.

After my Housecarl helps me climb up in front of her like I am a child, I decide to grace the night with my complaints.

 _I'm still tired and stressed and I really just want to sleep..? Is that too much to ask for? But noooo, instead here I am, sitting like some five-year-old_ child _in front of my Housecarl on an Oblivion-damned horse._

"Rayya, in case it has escaped your notice, I do not. Like. Horses. They smell, they're annoying, and they cause me great pain. They're large and awkward and they run on what is essentially their _fingertips_ Rayya these damn animals make no sense."

The horse beneath us neighs in protest and I give its dancing mane a vehement glare.

"I daresay it's more likely that you are merely too short to handle a standard horse here in Skyrim. You would do better with a pony, my Thane."

 _Did I detect humour? Is she laughing at my misfortune? As if it's my fault that people here are so ridiculously tall!_

I give her a warning _Look_ through half-lidded eyes, my lips pressed into a sardonic smile as we trot along the landscape. "I may be shorter, but I'm still your boss, aren't I?"

She rolls her eyes dramatically, her scimitars poking me in my sides as she encourages the horse into an easy trot. "Whatever you say, my Thane."

For some reason, she seems a lot less… uptight than when Ondolemar was with our group. _Wow, I wonder why that is,_ I muse sarcastically, resolutely keeping my eyes on the road.

 _I don't pick my friends on their faction. I know that there are good Stormcloaks amongst the xenophobic asses, and that there are good imperial soldiers amongst the Thalmor boot-licking Legion. It is only logical to assume that there are decent folk in every faction. Misguided folk, but good people, that is._

"You never did clarify what plan you had, my Thane, beyond using Breezehome as temporary shelter from the… for Lyonmelar." She catches herself, drawing some looks from the imperials we pass, the soldiers dragging a haggard-looking prisoner between them as they head in the general direction of Solitude.

I almost feel bad for the shabby-looking blonde man dressed in rags, if not for the pure hatred he aims at us – me, more specifically. "Look elsewhere, damn elf." He spits venomously, and Rayya steers the horse away from the small group immediately, lips pressed into a thin line of carefully controlled anger.

I frown, my hands briefly moving upwards to touch the tips of my too-pointed ears. "Don't let a beggar's words get to you, my Thane." I huff indignantly, not a little frustrated.

 _Speaking of good and bad apples in every faction…_

"I do not understand it. I mean, I can grasp that there have always been skirmishes and wars between Mer and Men, but why can neither be content with what they have been given? The Snowmer back in the day would have been perfectly fine allowing the Akaviri people to settle in Skyrim – without going to war with them. War only breeds contempt and brings only death and misery. Why is it that elves and men have to start the same battles over and over again?"

Rayya is silent for a long time after I verbalise my questions, before shaking her head with a sigh, barely audible over the sound of hooves against stone and dirt.

"I… cannot answer that, my Thane. Though the Great War has fanned the flames of hatred between Men and Mer once again – it is what lead us to the civil war." I scowl darkly at the rocks around us.

"This whole civil war seems to be about who gets to own which patch of _dirt_ , nevermind what the people living on it need."

 _If I ever get in a situation where Ulfric and general what's-his-name are in the same room, I WILL have some…words with them. But for now…I have more pressing issues. I am patient. Enough so that I can wait, at least, for an opportunity._

"The plan is to find a way into the Ratway. Then we get Esbern. I don't care where else we go, as long as I'm back in Solitude in, like, a week." I'm glad the woman doesn't ask why I am so hard-pressed to visit the wedding then.

 _Maybe I can talk to Marcurio when we're in Riften. I have to explain myself, somehow. And a short visit to Erandur can't hurt, can it?_

Somehow, even the thought of speaking to the imperial mage has my nerves skyrocket, and I fidget uncomfortably atop the horse, which whinnies in agitation.

I nearly let out a groan of frustration at the damned creature below me, but I'm quite high above the ground and I don't want Rayya to push me off, so I settle for huffing quietly and going back to glaring at Skyrim's landscape, wondering what it will look like when Frostfall comes upon us.

 _I don't think I could handle the cold. It's biting enough as it is, even though I'm dressed warmly. Perhaps I should see to invest in a thicker cloak, since my own is ratty thanks to all that travelling._

When I'm in Solitude I can look. For now, I must play along with Delphine post haste… And find a way to deal with the Thieves Guild in the sewers without killing them all.

…

 _Movarth's coven stank worse. It doesn't make this little jaunt any more pleasant though._

I glance over my shoulder after we dispatch of an entire platoon of Skeevers, the dripping of water down stones, falling into the multitude of puddles of filth at our feet, and our heavy breathing the only discernible sounds. Straining my ears, I conclude that we're alone… for now.

"As I said earlier, you don't have to come along." I remind Rayya, who stands loyally behind me, her eyes teared up from the stench and her gag reflex working overtime at the amount of Skeevers, which she hates with a passion.

 _She could have gone to the inn while I solved this, honestly._

I almost feel sorry for her – Neither of us had planned to go sewer delving today, the sixteenth of Hearthfire, fighting oversized rats and lowlifes as we go.

 _What a day. It feels like I miss something about it though…_

She shakes her head stubbornly, and I sigh, shaking my head even as I'm careful to only breathe through my mouth. "Alright then. We should be at that Flagon place soon."

"The Ragged Flagon, my Thane." She reminds me, readjusting her grip on the bloodied scimitars in her hand. I squint my eyes, trying to pierce the darkness ahead – it's almost impossible, the only sources of light come from the beacons and pits that the sorry excuses of people who live down here use to make food and warm themselves.

Opening yet another rusted, mould-covered door with a loud creak, I grit my teeth and pray to Sithis that this will be worth finding that Esbern guy.

When we finally, _finally,_ get to a large open area, with plenty of light compared to the rest of the Ratway, I know we've struck metaphorical gold.

Several people are milling about, but they either don't know or don't care that Rayya and I are here. The smell of sewage is far more bearable, too, though it's still obvious just where we are, from the low ceilings in the passages to the water everywhere.

 _This place is disgusting, everything smells like shit. How can people LIVE like this?_

I subtly check if all my coin purses are well-hidden, save for the obvious one dangling from my waist which only holds twenty coins. Pocket change compared to the fortunes I've stashed away at Breezehome and Hjerim. Though I still have over six hundred coins on my person just in case I suddenly need a lot of supplies, or want to hire a mercenary.

Exchanging a look with Rayya, who seems ill at ease amongst the thieves, I shrug.

Putting on a casual, indifferent mask, I make my way up the small wooden ramp, the small sign of 'Ragged Flagon' ensuring that I'm at least headed the right way – if not the most pleasant one.

As we move, several pairs of eyes swivel to us with an intense focus. Seizing us up. Deciding if we're good targets. Rayya is getting more looks than I – my dented and torn armour probably has them think I'm either dangerous or unable to afford repairs.

 _I hadn't thought that would ever work in my favour, though._ I think, approaching the barkeep, since they're always a good point to start from.

I also see a familiar face – the man who approached me in the marketplace, over a year ago. He looks skinnier than I remember, gaunt face and deep rings under his eyes. _Are things not looking good?_

The bartender is grimy and sour-faced, and I already don't like his shifty eyes.

"You better have coin for your drink. There's no handouts here."

 _Ugh I'm not even five minutes in and I already want to bash heads._

I give him a raised eyebrow and my most disarming grin. "I hadn't expected such. But I'm not here for the drinks." His eyes narrow as I take place on a stool, Rayya protectively standing behind me, and I don't bother to look back to see if none of the thieves make a move.

 _Let it be a lesson for my dear Housecarl if she finds herself short on coin all of a sudden._

"I'm looking for someone." I continue without preamble, keeping my voice light and body language relaxed – like talking about the weather. _Straight to the point is my best bet._ "Old guy, hiding out here somewhere."

"Huh. Lots of old guys around. I don't really know if I can help." I give him my most deadpan stare. _Sure you don't._

Leaning forwards, I rest my chin on my hand, eyes narrowing as the barkeep picks up a glass to clean. _A nervous tick? The rag is filthy though, I doubt he can clean anything with that._

"Curious. My sources told me someone down in this dump might have more info for me. I even spared some coin to give to the man capable of giving me some answers. Pity it will just have to stay with me now, aye?"

Footsteps, fully muffled if not for the soppy sounds of boots against wet floors, come up behind me. Before Rayya can make a move to attack I turn around and grab her wrist to stop her scimitar from reaching the man from the marketplace whose name I never bothered to learn.

I shake my head cautiously at my Redguard Housecarl, not turning my gaze fully on her and still sensing her bristle. I narrow my eyes at the marketplace vendor… at the member of the Thieves Guild, I should say.

"Still trying to con people into buying that 'Falmer blood' concoction of yours?"

He huffs, eyeing me shrewdly. "Still going around facing those wretched things?" I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"Aye. Unearthing ancient treasures seems to have become a new specialty of mine, and unfortunately, the damn things come with the job. But you don't strike me as a man who would approach without reason. What do you want?"

 _Enough of all this small talk – as far as I know the Thalmor are creeping around as we speak, and I did not come all the way here to find my target dead._

 _Also, didn't Astrid say we – the Dark Brotherhood had relations to the Thieves Guild? Will it play in my favour if I use the name?_ No. Too risky an approach.

"Why lad, so suspicious you are. We might even have use of someone like you."

Something in my mind screeches to a halt at the job offer. From a _thief._

I just… Find myself giving him a blank stare for perhaps a split-second too long, as a knowing smirk grows on his face.

 _He knows that came out of nowhere, this bastard…_

 _Smart._ A small voice in the back of my mind pipes up, and I concede to it.

Regaining myself, I chuckle and shake my head, retrieving a handful of coins from one of my armour's hidden pockets.

"I'd take you up on that, but unfortunately I don't think Astrid would like it if I split my attentions even further than I already do. I'm a busy Mer. How about this? You give me my answers and I'll give you my coin."

 _I'm a fucking idiot._ My mental voice chirps in an overly happy, slightly hysterical tone.

 _There we go. I dropped the 'name' after all. SECONDS after deciding it would be a bad idea._

 _Anything to avoid getting involved with thieves – even if it means publicly claiming I'm an assassin, instead._

The thieves that have surrounded us carefully while we spoke freeze at the blonde woman's name, not noticing my inner turmoil. Rayya only freezes, but stays mercifully silent.

 _I am in deep shit. Then again, lately, when haven't I been?_

"A deal's a deal. The name's Brynjolf, in case your… family didn't tell you." He seems to avoid mentioning the Brotherhood, and for that, I am at least a little thankful.

 _I was so, so stupid to bring it up. Didn't I tell myself I wouldn't use the Brotherhood in this? I can handle myself without them. I have been doing it for months._

"But yeah, I bet I know your guy. He's hiding out in the Ratway Warrens. Paying us good coin for no-one to know about it. But keeping one of Astrid's from doing their job is a task I've long since given up on calling 'possible'. The Guild will stay out of your business once I've shown you the door."

He takes the coin, and it disappears faster than I can catch, not that I'll admit it.

Instead, I only nod, letting him bring Rayya and I to another unassuming door. "You pass through the Vaults. The Warrens are right ahead. If you see anything… unpleasant, the Guild would not mind if you took care of it."

I regard the thief coolly for a moment. "Of course." I drawl, not quite believing they're making me take care of their dirty work – which can be anything from Skeever infestations to lowlifes to Thalmor agents.

 _What a pain. For being known as headstrong folk, the people of Skyrim are terribly eager for someone to solve their problems FOR them._ We pass through, leaving Brynjolf and the Ragged Flagon behind.

The door slams shut with an ominous clang.

Leaving me alone with a fuming Housecarl who turns dark eyes on me, lips drawn into a tight line and black fury in every square inch of her expression.

 _Well, shit._

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think! And no, this is not, in fact, the last thing we'll see of Brynjolf… You'll see.**


	42. What I want

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): ANGST. High levels of hurt/comfort, too. Thalmor, Canon-typical everything.**

 **And so we stray further and further from the plot..!**

 **Also, for those who are not aware of it: This story is gonna be Gay. As. Hell.**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _We pass through, leaving Brynjolf and the Ragged Flagon behind. Leaving me alone with a fuming Housecarl who turns dark eyes on me the second the door shuts, lips drawn into a tight line and fury in every square inch of her expression. Well, shit._

Chapter 42 – What I want…

But before I can step up in my defence in any way, shape, or form, the Altmer in the Elven armour takes Rayya's attention away from me. When the Thalmor smiles darkly and murmurs 'too easy' as she approaches, my Housecarl sends me a withering glare, poking my chest harshly with a single, flame-spewing finger.

 _I didn't even know she knew spells._

"This. Isn't. Over."

I give her a smile that probably looks more like a terrified grimace, eyes wide and sweat beading down my brow in fear as I hold up my hands pleadingly. "Of course."

Then the High elves descend upon us like crows descend on rotting meat and we're forced to jump apart and split up, taking down the agents and dodging spells like crazy as we go. Now no longer caring for whatever reputation Rayya holds me to, I resort to playing dirty.

Not the 'kick in the shins'-sort of dirty, but the 'kick sewage water into your eyes and then shove my other foot in your family jewels'- level dirty.

It gives me a weird sort of glee, to see a proud Thalmor Wizard's face crumble comically before he clutches his crotch with his Sparks-spell still active.

Grinning with an instinctual wince of sympathy, I shove him off the ledge, not waiting to hear the crack of bones meeting unforgiving stone as the blade of my axe meets an Elven sword near my left side, the Altmer growling at me with livid gold eyes and it's _absolutely_ _thrilling_ when my other axe swings down and –

The fight is over far quicker than I'd like, and I quickly loot the corpses of anything interesting before moving on, not bothering to exchange barbs with, or even glancing at Rayya since the woman is too mad at me to respond anyway.

I mindlessly down a health potion, grimacing at the taste only briefly, though I really should be used to it by now. The giddy feeling that always fills my body with jitters and excitement not unlike an adrenaline rush leaves me faster when I drink a potion, or eat something that isn't meat or fish of any sort.

 _Perhaps it's the dragon instincts finally getting a chance to kick in – Oblivion only knows how many times I've intimately experienced dragons in their battle modes_.

I think with wry amusement, readjusting the grip on my bloodied axes and licking my lips clean of the blood I'd coughed up after that one Wizard caught me with a shock spell to the chest. _I'm getting too used to receiving and then disregarding injuries that would have Ma confine me to bed for weeks without preamble._

But… that's neither here nor now. Now, I have to get to Esbern, since the Thalmor obviously aren't going to stand around and wait until I conveniently arrive.

"…"

For a few moments, I only stare in disbelief. The room, with two levels and far too many arches and doors and gates, would have taken me quite some time to fully explore in the hopes of finding the elusive Blade.

… The sole door with at least ten locks on it, made of heavy wrought steel and with a single, small sliding door at eye height, makes my job impossibly easy.

I blink once more, before jarring myself back into motion, leaving the two lowlifes in the room in Rayya's capable hands as I walk up to the incriminating evidence of someone trying to hide from something very, very dangerous.

"Go away!"

 _Why, thank you for showing such courtesy._ At least the sliding door is open, allowing me to face the man who calls himself 'Esbern' clearly.

"Esbern. Open the door. Delphine send me." No use trying to negotiate something – _if he won't let me in, I will leave and tell Delphine I found him. If the Thalmor get here before she does, it isn't my problem_.

Luckily – though he doesn't know what I'm thinking of – for Esbern, the man considers my words seriously. "Delphine..? How do – So you've finally found her. And she led you to me. And here I am, caught like a rat in a trap."

I sneer at the inane words. _If he's smart, I might grow to like him. If he tries to use or manipulate me, I'm cutting all ties with these 'Blades' and start helping the Greybeards, Xrib be my witness_. "We'll both be rat _feed_ if we don't leave, _now._ " I press him, and he nods absently several times before startling.

"Oh, right, yes, of course… Now where did I put those…"

When he opens the door, I don't step inside, I only wait and keep an eye out for more threats – and Rayya's temper. She's still fuming, absolutely livid. And I'm distantly aware that it's my own fault, though I want to yell at her that I didn't exactly choose to join up with a group of cultist assassins. _I have a feeling though, that she'll have her answers… One way or another. I rubbed off on her a little, I'm afraid._

Once Esbern joins our ragtag group, having gathered some stuff from around his room, I quickly lead us back to the Ragged Flagon, the man quietly observing my bloodied figure and weapons, something strangely intense in his gaze as it weighs heavily on me.

The new wave of Thalmor are almost too easily dispatched with the strange, ragged man at our side.

Or well, the strange, ragged man and his _gigantic_ ice atronarch.

The Ragged Flagon is almost empty, but I only pause once we're past the sign, on the other side of the room, before turning to the old human. "You… Dragonborn. Is it really true?" Inclining my head slightly, I glance at the bar, where several pairs of eyes are still watching my every move, even more warily than before, Brynjolf being the sole exception, the interest and curiosity clearly written all over him.

 _Tsk. Dealing with thieves now, am I? I wonder how much further I can stray from what few moral laws I abide by before I'm on the path of no return._

And perhaps I'm already there.

"Let us talk properly in clean air." I suggest, and the Blade only nods silently again.

…

"You… Are not what I expected." Sitting next to him in a shadowed corner of the graveyard, the statue of Talos looming over us and Rayya keeping watch a few feet away, still able to hear our conversation in the crisp autumn air, I can't help but scoff.

"We can't always have what we want."

 _I can't have my family, or my people, or Marcurio, or some peace of mind, or my friend's safety… Aye, I've not spoken truer words in quite some time._

Esbern's eyes are wise and knowing, a different sort from Marcurio's sharp intelligence, or Ondolemar's hooded gaze. "Nevertheless," the greying man states, "This is far more important than even she realises. If you truly are Dragonborn, then… Then there might just be hope for us, after all. For so long, all I could do was watch our doom approach, helplessly."

Frowning slightly, I shift to get more comfortable, the sticky crimson on my face and hands drying, leaving me wishing for a bath and a vacation. "The dragons, I presume?"

"Pah! Dragons, no, they can be killed. The Blades killed many, in their early days. No, the dragons are merely the final portent of the End of Days."

And there, in the shadow of the human-turned-god that caused the Nords to start a civil war, in the thief-infested, filthy city of Riften under a cold, watery sun, I stopped breathing.

Well, for a stunned second, anyway.

With a loud whoosh of air, I let the moment pass, though the blood has drained from my face and my hands are shaking ever-so-slightly.

All of a sudden, it feels more real.

Not like fighting for my life every day hasn't felt real enough.

But my destiny of fighting Alduin.

It's one thing to hear about it only in prophecy _._

 _It's another matter entirely when someone else comes to me with it, with the expectation of me actually fulfilling the unfinished prophecy._

"The prophecies." I breathe.

He seems surprised that I've heard of them at all, but agrees solemnly, turning grim.

"Alduin has returned. The Dragon from the dawn of time, who devours the souls of the dead! None can escape his hunger, not here, and not in the afterlife. Alduin will devour all things and the world will end. Nothing can stop him!"

Perhaps I am not thinking clearly, but…

I swat him on the back of the head, even though Ma would have given me the scolding of a lifetime for so blatantly disrespecting a scholar and elder.

"How about you stop that doom-driven thinking and figure out a solution, instead? Delphine was under the impression you were intelligent." I bite, harsher than I intended.

I've been annoyed lately, angered by how people and 'gods' alike are intent on pulling my strings from all sides, expecting me to dance to the tune they set for me.

All I ask, is a forge, a warm bed, and a good meal made by someone I can share it with. Instead I get trouble whichever way I turn and dragons carving marks into my soul when I eat theirs… After _they_ attack _me,_ no less _._ Scowling at the sky, I wait for the aghast man to catch up.

"I am one of the most esteemed dragon scholars in all of Tamriel. I have lived without hope for such a long time, that I forgot myself." He states calmly, and I glance back at him to see him… perfectly calm.

Which only serves to annoy me further.

I bite the inside of my cheek, sighing softly. Great, now I feel guilty on top of everything else. Esbern keeps his disappointed, grandfatherly face on as he rises with some difficulty.

"For now, we must make way to Riverwood."

"I have business in Solitude that cannot wait." I disagree, standing as well and brushing the statue as I go, the sudden blue glow startling not only me, but the other two as well as a rush of power, tingling at the back of my throat, engulfs me briefly.

I waste a few precious seconds staring blankly at the face of Talos, before deciding that I've had enough mystical stuff today and ignoring the light.

"I want to visit some friends here in Riften and then make my way there as fast as possible."

Esbern frowns. "Perhaps… Since this was sprung on you so suddenly, I might have a compromise. I shall head out to Riverwood by myself, and will meet Delphine there. In five days, we shall see you at Karthspire, in the Reach. It's not too far from the road to Solitude, and won't keep you long, I assure you." I quickly take inventory of our little group.

There's me, bloody and wearing dragon armour, carrying far too many valuables on my person to be healthy. Then Rayya, still angrier than I've ever seen her and out for answers I don't want to give, her hands twitching over her scimitar and her glares reserved only for me. Esbern is gaunt, pale, skinny, and dressed in nothing more than rags. He won't survive on the road for a day.

I pull out a coin purse and hand it to him, keeping my expression carefully blank. "Get yourself something warm to wear and supplies. I do not feel our agreement is fair. I was… harsh, in my treatment of you, where you have done nothing to warrant the aggression."

 _Not you. Delphine. Delphine and Astrid and the Jarls and the Greybeards and Ulfric…_

"Rayya will help you get to Riverwood safely, after I've talked to her."

…

"You're with them. Since when?"

"Falkreath. And not by choice."

"Were you forced? Coerced? Did they threaten to kill those you held dear?"

"I was brought to their hideout and up to my neck in trained killers. I like living."

" _You should have died._ "

A strange feeling of emptiness and dimmed frustration wells up inside my chest. It twists my stomach, it's ugly, and it makes me feel sickened. "This conversation is over. Leave with Esbern, accompany him wherever he goes, and keep him safe. Consider it my last order as your Thane. Rayya…" I pause, closing my eyes briefly and sighing.

"I will consider you a friend, always. Please, in the light of what we've been through together, heed this one request of mine, not as your superior, but as your travelling companion. Be free. Do what you want. Do not let anyone dictate the choices you make. One day, you might not be given a choice in the first place."

I watch her nod, tight-lipped and eyes softening, fogging up like warm air on cold glass before she abruptly turns and leaves, following Esbern out the gates in Shor's Stone's general direction. It… hurts, to let her go. But I know that, much like Lydia, she never wanted to be a Housecarl. She told me herself, after all.

 _Five days to Karthspire._ I grimace, walking along the outside of the city walls towards the river to wash up at last. _Esbern's courteous, at least. I… suppose it can't hurt. It'd be folly to get myself into more trouble than I am right now, but – No, it can wait._

The doors to the Bee and Barb look anything but inviting. Still, I push them open. It's warm and merry inside, with some guards having their break, and the regular patrons rallied around the bard for more songs as the mead flows. I stand silently in the doorway for a moment, before forcing my feet, glued to the floor, to at least take a few steps to avoid getting in anyone's way. The trepidation settled deep inside my body is almost palpable, my hands clammy and my ears twitching at every movement I spot.

Abruptly, I sink down onto the bench next to Marcurio, not daring to look at the mage _– hah, as if he isn't the first and only thing in here that holds my attention for over a second._

He glances my way once, then has to do a double take, spewing a mouthful of mead all over the polished, worn wooden floorboards. "I expect you clean that up!" Keerava barks from her usual place behind the bar, even as she gives me an unsettlingly broad grin. "Welcome back, Fjaldi. Hadn't thought I'd see you here so soon."

I let myself play along, chuckling softly even as I shove over the coins for a bottle of ale. "Neither had I. Funny, how things go." _How some deplorable fate insists on playing with me._

"What brings you to this ratty little corner of Skyrim today?" The Argonian continues conversationally, and I can sense the underlying need for gossip. So I gesture vaguely around me, uncorking the ale carelessly.

"Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that. Dragons are bad for my health, it seems. Who'd have figured, right?"

She laughs throatily. "Too true. I've heard the best cure is some good arrows and a sharp blade." I raise an eyebrow.

"Arrows? No thanks, I'd rather the dragon."

Finally, Marcurio has had enough of watching us, and watching me ignore him, as he grabs my arm and drags me up the stairs, throwing some coin at Keerava for the room. Dumbfounded by the wizard's sudden aggression, I let him haul me up, into the far room, which he locks behind him before turning to me, crossing his arms.

"Well, well now, look what the horker dragged in." He drawls lazily. "Still running around Skyrim causing trouble, no doubt?"

I can only shake my head sadly, trying not to let too much show through my half-assed grin. "Trying to get rid of the sources of my own troubles, at the moment. It's a full-time job." I glance up at him, not quite daring to hope too much. _In for a coin, in for an ingot._

"Well, maybe a little less if I had a master of the Arcane Arts at my side."

The beaming grin that crosses his face has my heart _ache_ with an acuteness that's as disorienting as it's terrifying. I quickly dive into my pack to avoid meeting his eyes. It's… weird, how my frustration seems to dissipate just being in the same room as the Imperial. "I'd say you've come to the right place, friend! After all, I, Marcurio, am -"

"I was thinking more of Onmund, really." I cut through his spiel, finally digging up the crinkled letter said mage gave to me and handing it over to him. Marcurio accepts it curiously, settling down on the bed next to me as I draw my knees up in a cross-legged position, waiting for the mage to notice.

When the coin finally drops, his slack-jawed expression is worth every septim for it to be painted onto a canvas, framed and hung over the mantelpiece in some fancy manor. I cackle, for once not thinking about my never-ending list of problems or the threat of the World's End pressing down onto my shoulders. Nearly rolling off the bed with laughter, I watch through teary eyes as Marcurio exclaims and curses, shocked and then indignant before moving to being pleased.

"Y-Your _face_! **Xrib's Forges,** you should have seen _your face_!"

Now, the mage also snickers. "I bet he charges triple of what I do. As per our previous agreement – a hundred septims. Four hundred once I've proven 'worthy of investing'." The mercenary grins, before turning more serious, the smile fading and his dark brows creasing. "Or I'll come with you for free, if you tell me what triggered you to leave without Erandur and I so suddenly." Like an elk in Magelight, I stare at him.

"What makes you think…" I clear my throat when my voice gives out in a high-pitched squeak, "What makes you think it had something to do with you?" His brown eyes, his beautiful, painful, brown eyes look into mine.

Taking a deep breath, I move.

…

 _I'm such a fucking coward. Sithis, take me to the Void so I may be freed of my self-inflicted idiocy._

Behind me, Marcurio plays with the coin I gave him, twirling a lone Septim between his long fingers as he watches me from the corner of his eye worriedly.

I clear my throat for the umpteenth time this hour, ears still droopy in a clear sign of my detrimental emotional state. "We make for Karthspire. R… Some associates of mine will meet us there. I'm not sure what the point is, but keep yourself ready for possible threats while we're there."

Those too-intelligent brown eyes don't leave the back of my head until we've set up camp and they succumb to sleep. I stare up at the night sky with a sigh, fooling myself into thinking the wetness running down my cheeks are just droplets of rain. Faintly, I recall a time where I would sit, staring at the sky with my hand held by Ma's, as well as a time where I'd hold mead instead, the warmth of a companion at my side as we discussed this very sky.

Now, I sit and stare upwards, not seeing the stars, wondering when the night stopped being the calm haven I needed it to be.

 _I want to go home._

 _Do I really have a place to call that, though?_

 **A/N: aand that's it for today. I have woefully little time to edit, so I might get back to this chapter later. If I do, I'll mention it. Stay tuned for next week! I'm planning to speed up the storyline a bit and, well, scramble some quests beyond recognition. You'll just have to wait and see.**


	43. Jinxed It

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Fights, canon-typical everything, Dark Brotherhood**

 **Gods, how I wish I had time to edit all of this. Sorry for mistakes in grammar/spelling!**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _Now, I sit and stare upwards, not seeing the stars, wondering when the night stopped being the calm haven I needed it to be._

Chapter 43 – Jinxed it

Sky Haven Temple feels all wrong. And I'm sure it's not the massive amount of Forsworn that desecrated the entrance and tried to kill us all while we made our way through to the Temple. The puzzles were challenging enough… not. Following a few tiles is hardly a challenge, after all. The loot in the chest to the entrance was pretty decent, though.

Quietly, and still feeling an overwhelming sense of _wrongness,_ I look at the large, mannish head on the far wall. _This cannot be a dead end._ Behind me, Marcurio taps his foot against the floor impatiently. Rayya, Esbern and Delphine catch up far too slow, for both of our likings. I suppose I can blame the Heavy Armour and the Forsworn in Rayya's case, but the other two…

Luckily, we only have to wait for a few moments more. _It better not take too long – I have only three days to get to Solitude in time for the wedding, and I'd hate to disappoint Veezara._

"Amazing, eh? To be standing at the very entrance to Sky Haven Temple itself!" Esbern exclaims to Rayya, who nods, still steadily avoiding me.

It's fine.

 _It's really not._

At least she can make her own decisions now, rather than being forced by duty to follow my every step like a dog. "How do we find the entrance to this Temple?" I ask when nobody makes a move, probably either waiting for another to act, or just caught up in the Nordic artwork before us.

"The Akaviri blood seal can only be opened with the right kind of blood. Your blood, Dragonborn." For a passing beat, I can only stare at the man incredulously.

"You jest." Delphine accuses disbelievingly. "Should Nord blood not be enough?"

Esbern only sighs wanly. "I'm afraid not. Otherwise, anyone could have entered in these past centuries. None did, as the amount of dust here clearly shows."

I take a deep breath. _I'm getting real sick and tired of being told what to do by others. Can't I just have a book or two and learn about it myself? But no, I should at least respect Esbern, since he's a scholar._

Gritting my teeth, I draw my Dwemer dagger – Why I left the malachite one with Ghorza I will never quite know – and move up to the circle. "If you need help drawing blood, let me know." Snorting at Delphine's only half-joking suggestion, I shake my head and crouch next to the circle's centre.

Quickly, I draw the blade across the palm of my hand, ignoring the sting and letting the blood fall onto the stone, feeling quite foolish doing so.

When the floor starts giving off a watery, white light and the sounds of stone shifting against stone reach my ears, my heart jumps to my throat and I jump back too fast, stumbling into Marcurio's chest as he grabs my hand and calls upon his healing magic absently, watching the spectacle as all of us do.

"Look! It's coming to life! You did it, there's the entrance!" Delphine gasps, her voice bouncing off the walls as the golden glow of the circle does, as well… only the glow doesn't sound like a devoted priest, exclaiming over their chosen god in awed, overzealous wonder.

I watch, befuddled as the head somehow starts moving, tilting backwards into the wall as if bowing to me, until it stills once more. "Such interesting mechanics…" I mutter under my breath, frowning.

 _And this is reinforced with magic, since it needed my blood to be activated. A rather morbid cult, aren't they? The Blades. I think I prefer the Greybeards over them, after all._

When Rayya makes to step forwards, Delphine tugs her back with a slow shake of her head, her blue eyes still trained on the entrance. "The Dragonborn should have the honour of being the first to set foot in Sky Haven Temple." I glance over my shoulder, briefly meeting Marcurio's eyes, who nods at me in encouragement. Without further hesitation, I start moving up the stairs. _This better be worth the trouble._

…

Eyes wide as dinner plates, I look around the massive room, the miraculously intricate Nordic architecture, and the attention to detail in every single stone and wall. It's dim, a faint blue light making it impossible to see the ceiling or even the other side of the great hall clearly. "Now _this_ is a temple." Marcurio remarks behind me, for once not seeming bothered by the Blades as they move ahead of us, inspecting the room.

 _This was worth the trouble._ I decide, slowly following after Esbern as the old man makes a beeline for one of the carefully carved walls, depicting a fight with a dragon. When I approach the Blade scholar, he turns to me with a beaming grin.

"Isn't it amazing?" Agreeing with a nod, I glance at the wall next to us, lit by the flaming torches we all carry.

"It is. Do you suppose there's some way to defeat Alduin here?"

"Ah, of course. If I can only find the right panel…"

He walks by the wall, scanning every detail with Delphine's help, and I sit back to wait and further appreciate the architecture. Even though I cannot fully relax with Marcurio and Rayya's eyes on me. Then Esbern holds his torch just a bit higher, and the grooves in the stone finally become crystal clear, the huge dragon head almost jumping forwards at me. I flinch back at the thought of facing in battle what already looks so devastatingly deadly in carving. Probably without backup.

"Found it! The centrepiece, of course – You see, here he is falling from the sky. The Nord Tongues – Masters of the Voice – are arrayed against him."

Delphine, impatient, holds her own torch to match Esbern's, standing next to him with a scowl. "So does it show how they defeated him? Isn't that the reason we're here in the first place?"

"It certainly is why _I_ am here." I murmur under my breath, unable to tear my eyes away from the enormous dragon – how large it is compared to the humans in the painting. I'd seen Alduin, in Kynesgrove, yes. From a relatively large distance, and he nearly blocked out the sun with his ash-black scales. Swallowing thickly, I let my hand fall to the reassuring grip of my axes. _I'm supposed to face that?_

"Patience, children. The Akaviri were not straightforward people, unlike today's Nords. Everything is couched in allegory and mythic symbolism. But, from this I can say they used the Thu'um to gain the upper hand."

I don't miss the way Delphine glances at me before she asks. "They used a Shout to defeat Alduin?" She turns to me again, and now I'm sure that the gleam in her eyes does not bode well for me. Rayya and Marcurio, who stayed away in the background for so long, are bickering in increasingly escalating voices, but through the ringing in my ears and the brief panic clouding my mind, I hardly even register it.

"…Such a thing? A Shout that can knock a dragon out of the sky?"

Grimacing, I shake my head. All my better dreams involve flying in some way, these days – I can't imagine wanting to drag a dragon to the ground, when they're not meant to belong there.

 _I'll have to, though._

"The Greybeards might know better than I… I've never heard of such a thing. If my people wanted to take down a dragon, we'd use bolts to tear their wings to pieces, not a Shout, to get them down."

"You're probably right. I was hoping to avoid having to involve them in this, but it seems we really have no choice." Chuckling softly at her reluctant admittance, I can't help but ask: "Why do you hate a bunch of old men on a mountain?"

What follows is a spiel that basically boils down to telling me that power isn't dangerous, the Greybeards are useless, and the great heroes whom I don't plan to live up to all learned to use their power. Also, she says there's always a choice.

"Always a choice, Delphine?" I snort derisively and shake my head.

"Yes." She affirms, the fires of zeal burning brightly in her gaze, close to all-consuming. _Dangerous._

I choose to remain silent, even as the question dances tantalizingly through my head.

 _Who gave me a choice to become Dragonborn, I wonder?_

"I'll go to High Hrothgar and see what they know when I have the time." We exchange some more small talk before a sudden burst of Sparks catches us both off-guard.

I barely manage to duck and swivel towards the threat on my heel, nearly spraining my ankle doing so and drawing my axe swiftly. Only to see Rayya and Marcurio look at us in mild discomfort, the Redguard with her scimitar against the wizard's throat and the mage holding a flaming hand just above her unguarded hand.

At the sight, I let out a shout of dismay, quickly running up to them as Delphine lingers behind, observing amusedly. 

"That's enough, you two! What's wrong?" I cross my arms, tapping my foot impatiently as I wait for either of them to react. Then, Rayya explodes first, the infamous Redguard temper rearing its head.

"You! You're what's wrong! You claim to be of a dead race, deader than the dragons ever were, and then you're suddenly also Dragonborn! A legend, a warrior of great valour and moral strength – and you! You use underhanded tactics and consort with killers and scum and sneak around rather than face your foes fairly!" During her speech, my eyes grow wider and wider, my ears twitching as far down as they can physically go.

My shoulder drop even as a stone hits the bottom of my stomach. I grow cold.

 _Is that how it is, then?_

 _Is that really…_

 _Wow._ I bark out an unamused, dark laugh, dragging my hand down my face as I take a deep, shuddering breath, feeling my entire body shake with suppressed… I cannot even identify the chaos of the emotions inside me.

I turn to Marcurio, something fragile inside my chest creaking under pressure as I manage to utter:

"Is that… Really how everyone perceives me? As an unworthy usurper of a role I don't even _want_? Something I _never asked for?_ "

… _Something I do even though all the ones I used to love so dearly have been dead for literal ages?_

My voice, soft as it is, echoes impossibly loud across the room. It must be the silence, thick enough to cut with my axe that reigns after Rayya is done speaking.

 _I had hoped she understood my position. Or at least accept it. Or at the very, very least… still consider herself a friend to me._

Clenching my fists until my nails cut through my skin and small droplets of red begin to seep between my fingers, I stay deadly still, but my mind is racing with rapidly darkening thoughts.

"…Okay." It sounds weak, the bland, monotone noise that escapes my throat in a parody of an acceptance. Taking a deep breath, I force myself not to let go of all the indignant fury that wells up within me at being given such a shitty hand in this game of the gods.

For only the gods would ever deign to mess with me like this.

"Well, if that's how I'm seen, then I guess nobody will mind if I retire early and leave you to rot? Skyrim has not really given me many reasons to protect it, from what I've seen." I bite harshly, giving Rayya my most withering glare.

"No matter what people seem to think, I _can_ decide to quit entirely. I won't, because I like to think I'm _better_ than that."

And… _there's children out there, innocent children and creatures who can't defend themselves, or even realise what's happening around them_

"We're done here."

 _I don't fight this for you. I don't fight for Ulfric Stormcloak, not for the Empire and not for any other faction. I don't even know WHY I fight._

Stiffly, I back away from where I'd subconsciously moved into the Redguard's personal space, schooling my feral snarl into something more neutral, if forced, and releasing the death grip on my weapon.

Exhaling through pursed lips and turning on my heel, I start stalking towards the exit.

 _Pity all the Forsworn are dead already. Maybe a dragon will attack so I can vent my agitation on something other than Marcurio. I really don't want him to bear the brunt of the annoyance not caused by him._

"Good control for a nineteen-year-old brat." Delphine mutters under her breath.

I don't know where she got her information about me, but I take just the few seconds necessary to rectify her mistake: "I've turned twenty by now." Comes my snarling reply, and I have a hard time not slapping myself in the face for forgetting my own birthday, of all things.

I really wasn't thinking of it – _I spend my Sithis damned birthday talking to thieves in a sewer. Let that be a fact I'd never thought could be true._

Marcurio catches up with me quickly as we move back down the mountain, and within minutes, we fall back into our good old pattern of mutual barbs and teasing. The underlying tension remains, though, and if I had a chance to do it over, I would not have given the wizard those 100 coins – but confess how deeply my feelings for him run. It's almost scary, how far I would be willing to go to ensure that he's happy, and with me.

Is possessive behaviour normal for dragons mainly, or is wanting to keep him safe and near just one of my personal quirks? Or is it something all Mer in love feel?

 _Wait… When did 'liking him' turn into 'love'?_

 _Back in Falkreath. Right._ Another deep breath.

…

 _It puts my mind at ease to have Marcurio back at my side, at least. For now, that's all I can really ask for. I can't be any more of an asshole than I already am, and adding selfishness to my humungous list of flaws… Please, I have a zero point none percent chance of having him already, no need to get even more depressed._

…

Solitude is filled with Men, Mer, and merriment. We're just in time – having arrived at the day of the wedding. There's no room at all in the Winking Skeever, and though Marcurio and I would both enjoy a quick rest, we settle for visiting the clothing store in order to dress ourselves in something more appropriate. The fine clothes are an uncomfortable reminder of the Thalmor Embassy, and I don't hesitate to keep my weapons on my person and my knapsack within reach.

I also refuse to remove the leather boots and bracers I've taken to wearing since my Dragonscale armour is worn to near-shreds.

It must look a little odd, fine clothes with some random armour pieces. But I am not going to leave the building without it.

The scale set is safely tucked into my pack, the poor leather stretched to its limits. I'm considering selling the armour – even though it has the blessings of Xrib. I can hardly cling to something that's lost its primary function, which is to protect me.

Out of the entire set of draconic armour, only the bracers are still in a redeemable condition. I might as well take materials from the next dragon to come along and forge an entirely new set.

But… It will still hold in an emergency.

Marcurio, too, needs a change of clothes – the mages' robes he likes are torn, and the armour pieces I gave him are in a similar condition to my own gear.

"We need new armour. Where's a dragon when you need one?" I lament as we stroll towards the wedding reception leisurely. _Weddings are strange._

"Don't say that! We don't want one to swoop down upon us while we're attending the celebrations!"

Somehow, I have a feeling I'll have other things to worry about soon enough.

The reason I want to attend this party at all is because an assassin asked me to, after all. Rolling my shoulders to ease some of the tension creeping in, I merely shake my head a bit at the mage's enthusiasm. "I'm here to meet and possibly help a friend."

Now, the wizard's eyes narrow sharply, and I'm once again reminded that underneath the sarcasm and merry-go-lucky exterior lies a wickedly intelligent mind – one of the reasons I fell for him in the first place.

"Your… Darker associates?" _The brotherhood, yes._ I nod subtly, and he presses his lips together in a tight line briefly. "I can't say I fully approve… But it's none of my business, is it?" The words are forcibly kept nonchalant, the underlying tone of disappointment is still impossible to ignore. Guiltily, I turn my gaze away.

The bride is just about to stand and make her speech when I see a shadow on the walkway above her, where a grotesque statue is hanging dangerously unstable. My eyes keep glued to the shadow as Vittoria Vicci starts her speech. She looks happy, but she isn't – _I have a feeling she won't be much of anything soon._

 _Damnit Veezara! If Marcurio and Rayya know I'm with the Dark Brotherhood, and Rayya knows about me going here, she's going to blame ME for the murder! (Unless Rayya is no longer a factor…)_

No. I'm not killing my Housecarl.

"My husband Aesgir and I thank you for coming to our reception. We thank you for sharing the love we have for each other. Today, the problems of Skyrim are not my problems. Nor are they yours. Today, we are joined in -"

It looks, at first, like a hiccup.

Would have looked like that to me too if I hadn't seen the shadow jump from the walkway, behind the bride.

 _I thought he'd drop the statue._

Instead, Vittoria suddenly makes another choking noise, her eyes wide and disbelieving, face twisted unpleasantly in agony, blood dribbling from her mouth and onto her dress – the fabric pierced by a long dagger sticking out of her heart, causing red to stain her delicate figure even more.

Aesgir, as well as the remainder of the people and guards at the reception, are far too shocked to react for a precious long time, during which the red-and-black shadow with a green scaled tail – _Veezara –_ gracefully jumps even further down, to ground level, and manages to leave the small square before the alarmed shouts start and weapons are drawn.

While Marcurio's eyes are still trained on the bloody scene on the balcony, I grab his hand and start dragging him through the panicked crowd, away from the murder. His bare hand in mine allows me to at least think a little clearly.

 _I was asked to come here to see the Brotherhood in action, so they know what they expect of me. Or Veezara wanted to show off._

… _I could have done it just as he did, but I'd have used the statue to avoid facing the crowd, crushing Vici underneath and then making my way back through the shopping district or near the abandoned manor._ When I turn the corner, I come face-to-face with what looks like an Imperial agent at first glance.

Then I notice that the uniform, while sporting the right colours, is all wrong in design for a soldier. "Citizens," he greets us with a nod, brandishing his high-quality steel sword, "Have you seen any suspicious figures running in this direction?"

I pause to think for all but a second. _Lie._ "I saw someone in a black travelling cloak move towards the gates in a hurry. Seemed to be an Altmer, though they were at a distance. Why? Is it because of…?" I look back towards the reception worriedly, as if pained and distraught by the mere thought.

The agent nods once more. "Indeed. We are searching for the perpetrator. He seems to have disappeared without a trace. If you have any details… How come you think it was an Altmer?"

This time, I don't hesitate. "Due to my own size, I am always more alert as to how tall the people around me are. Only Altmer can be as tall as the person running. They also had a motif on their robes, some sort of golden embroidery? I'm afraid they wore a hood, and I can't tell you more."

 _Perhaps shoving the blame upon the Thalmor is not the best idea. But if it means the Imperials will be more wary of them, I will take the risk._ The agent seems pensive as he stiffly moves to the side to let us pass, and I squeeze Marcurio's hand reassuringly. I need to reassure myself, as well, since this – this event – has left me reeling a bit.

I only stop walking once we're in the shadows close to the graveyard and the Hall of the Dead. A morbid place to be on an ordinary day – now it's almost ironic that I went here of all places.

"Are you alright?" Are the first words out of my mouth.

Marcurio sighs and rubs the back of his head. "I suppose. How about you? You look rather pale." I snicker nervously, glancing around as if to assure myself that nobody is here.

"I… Hadn't seen that coming. I should have, but I didn't. I feel stupid now."

A small spark lights up in the mage's eyes, one I have missed in the past days. "I'm glad you finally figured out where your intelligence level lies, my friend." Elbowing him in the gut lightly, I scoff.

"Of course. I'm obviously above _your_ level _,_ mister _apprentice wizard_."

"Hey!"

We chuckle under our breaths, and I hope he doesn't notice we're still holding hands – it's comfortable, even though his palms are clammy and warm in the otherwise frigid air. "At least we made it in time for the wedding… Even though it ended in disaster. Like most things that happen around you, it seems."

The smile on my face fades a little. "My apologies. Trouble seems to follow me wherever I step." Marcurio raises his head slightly to look at the cloudy afternoon sky, a sudden gust of Hearthfire air tugging at our hair, and the sight of the mage leaves me breathless for all but the briefest moments before I gather myself, red-faced.

"I doubt it. After all, we're not in trouble yet."

"Wait! Hear my plea! My master, he is lost between worlds and I cannot bring him back!" We both startle at the sudden voice and turn to find a Dunmer-like beggar approach us, the Mer's facial muscles twitching sporadically under his ragged cap.

Raising an eyebrow, I ask. "Your master? What's wrong?"

 _Marcurio, you bastard. You totally jinxed it._

 **A/N: Let me tell you, this is not gonna end the way you think…**


	44. Drive me Insane

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Dark Brotherhood, major clusterfuck**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _Wait! Hear my plea! My master, he is lost between worlds and I cannot bring him back!" We both startle at the sudden voice and turn to find a Dunmer-like beggar approach us, the Mer's facial muscles twitching sporadically under his ragged cap. Raising an eyebrow, I ask. "Your master? What's wrong?"_

Chapter 44 – Drive me insane

" _You bastard. You totally jinxed it!_ " I hiss at Marcurio when the Dunmer twirls, _twirls,_ in a full circle, hands clasped together as if searching for his 'master' and expecting him to jump out of a magic portal.

That elf is either completely out of his mind or his master is the kind of mage or creature that has the skills to call upon a magic portal. For some reason - _geez, I have no clue as to why_ \- I am leaning towards the former. Or both, when looking at my track record.

"My master has abandoned me! Abandoned his people. And nothing I say can change his mind. Now he refuses to even see me. He says I interrupt his vacation! It's been so many years… Won't you please help?"

' _What luxury, I wish I could go on a vacation for several years'_ and _'This Mer is crazy as a bag of cats'_ are the two things that fly through my mind, warring for attention as I frown confusedly.

"Alright. I mean, it sounds odd, but alright. Where is… your master?"

Behind the beggar, Marcurio is wildly shaking his head, making gestures near the side of his head as if to say the same thing that's on my mind: This person is crazy.

I give him an unrepentant smirk.

 _But I'm curious. I can't help it. I need to know more._

Besides, he's my friend, not my employer.

"Last I saw him, he was visiting a friend in the Blue Palace. But no-one as mundane as the Jarl, no, no… Such people are below him."

 _Uhm. What? Isn't the Jarl of Solitude slated to be the next High Queen of Skyrim if the Imperials win the war?_

I listen carefully, turning a blind eye to Marcurio's increasingly dramatic gesturing at the elf in front of me.

It's an odd comment to make even for a crazy person. I've met other people who are on the wrong side of sane in my life, but even most of them acknowledge that the Jarls in Skyrim are at some level of importance.

Let me think... An example of a crazed, deperaved...

Ah.

Eola _eats people_ and I'm pretty sure she respects jarls perfectly fine. Well, jarls that aren't Igmund or Siddgeir. I guess.

And there's me. I fight dragons and delve into deadly tombs for a living. Sane people don't do that.

"No, he went into the forbidden wing of the palace, to speak with an old friend. Said it had been a long while since they had last had tea."

This story is making less sense by the minute, but I'll take it.

I mean, I'm not throwing rocks when my house is made of glass, and all that.

"Everyone should drink a nice cup of tea every once in a while. I personally find it most relaxing." I give the elf a wan smile. "Though I suppose I may have a cup after I have found your master. Any specific way in which my friend and I may help?"

I am left with a piece of a skeleton while the beggar dances off into the evening, still ignoring my companion's complaints.

"A forbidden wing? The Pelagius wing? Do you know what we're doing? This is insane! Pelagius was a murdering madman! It could be haunted by his victims for all we know."

 _Aye. It's insane indeed._

 _Hmm. Perhaps I already know who's involved here. I can't say I hold anything against him, so I suppose this small detour can't hurt. I can do unpredictable... As long as my mind doesn't give out on me out of stress._

I give the wizard a grin, adjusting the straps of my bracer as I start off towards the palace, still in my fine clothes from the wedding. "Of course. But then again, we've done weirder things, haven't we?"

The grumbling doesn't even get on my nerves. It's more amusing than anything, really. If I weren't still running on some leftover adrenaline I might have been annoyed at being saddled with another job, but as it is I'm almost giddy.

It's a pleasant change from my stressful thoughts, so I go with the flow as much as possible to preserve my mood.

Besides, I'd rather solve this problem right away than to wait until the next time I make it to Solitude… Whenever that may be. But I'm not running around with a piece of bone in my hands.

I push the hipbone into the wizard's unsuspecting hands with a pleased huff.

"If you're going to complain anyway I may as well give you a legitimate reason, pack-mule dearest."

The chiding tone wouldn't have stopped the mage from an acerbic reply – however, dancing out of the reach of his half-hearted swipe to my head does the trick. Still snickering, I make my way to the Blue Palace, Marcurio following me after standing frozen in place briefly, staring after my retreating back.

I don't stop to wonder why when I quickly dive into an ally to change back into my armour _._

 _I hope to keep up this mood for as long as possible. Pity I have a bad feeling about going to the Blue Palace…_

"Firstly, I suppose we ought to find a way into this… Pelagius wing." I comment as we pass through the courtyard heading to the palace, passing by two guards who are about to head inside alongside us, probably for a change of the tower watch outside the city – I've heard they switch between positions in- and outside in order to prevent anyone from freezing to death.

 _It's apparently effective_.

Marcurio surpasses me with an irked huff, swaggering past them and not waiting for me to enter through the admittedly small – _well-defendable –_ entrance. I scoff good-naturedly, looking after his back indifferently, when a trembling shout of my name echoes through the courtyard.

I blink in surprise, swiftly turning to find a courier running towards me – the most nervous and panicked Dunmer I've ever seen, actually. _They are usually more composed characters._

 _Is this an exception, or are there merely exceptional circumstances? And if so, what does it have to do with me?_

He's clutching a letter as if his life depends on it. I don't think I've ever seen a white-knuckled Dunmer before, their skin just not suited to such a thing. But he's managing it.

"Y-you – You're Fjaldi, correct?" He starts, something like trepidation drenching his every word, "I have a letter for, for you. Y-your hands only. From one very angry woman, I might add. In, in fact, I'm pretty sure my own hands w-would be gone if I as much as, as much as breathed about this letter to anyone else." He babbles near-incoherently.

The courier presses the note in my hands as if he's scared it will spontaneously catch fire. He grins uneasily, giving me a shaky salute as he moves to stand at a more respectable distance from the curious guards.

"Whatever she wants, I wouldn't want to be in y-your, in your shoes right now." He starts running again without a single word, leaving me standing befuddled in the middle of the stone path, note in my hand.

I turn it over, trying to see any trademarks, like the sign of Winterhold – _I haven't heard from Onmund in a while, but I suppose he's not a scary woman. I should go visit him, and that damned library, as soon as I have the time._

One of the guards pokes me with her shield and I give her a cursory glance.

"I would read that if I were you."

The other guard, a Redguard male, snorts and shakes his head. "Angered your lady, did you? Looks like you'll be in the figurative doghouse for some time if she's that pissed off."

I don't bother reacting this time – _I'm single, thank you –_ and frown down at the note in contemplation before opening it, angling the parchment just so, that the curious guards cannot peek over my shoulder.

The sender's identity alone is enough for all the blood to drain from my face – _This can't be good. At all._

" _Fjaldi._

 _We have a situation in Solitude. As the closest member, you will take care of it. Veezara is occupied with Vicci, don't bother him. Do not argue. Do not disappoint._

 _I do not know which half-brained buffoon came up with the idea, but my most trusted sources have revealed that someone resurrected queen Potema Septim. This interferes with our plans and must be taken care of. Immediately. I care not for your methods. Your orders are simple: Kill the bitch._

 _Understand that this assignment cannot wait. Do not disappoint me._

 _Astrid."_

Almost a minute passes in silence as I carefully close the note, taking care not to cause any creases and methodically folding it twice more before wordlessly tucking it into my armour. My mind takes the brief amount of time to restart from where it had clicked to a halt in sheer, disbelieving terror.

 _Potema Septim is here somewhere. And I'm supposed to kill her._

Wasn't she the most powerful necromancer queen to ever walk Tamriel?

I am usually not one to curse _too_ heavily, but the string of vulgarity passes through my head and over my lips regardless, the biting Dwemeris causing raised eyebrows of the still oblivious guards.

Which brings me to another part of the problem: innocent bystanders.

 _Do I warm them?_

I eye them cautiously, before deciding that a raised alarm might cause the formerly dead queen to flee and bide her time until I leave the city. I can't risk alerting her.

With that, I enter the Blue Palace, my lips glued together to keep from screaming in frustration and fear and my skin pasty grey, the sense of impending doom sending a rush of adrenaline through my body, causing me to shake all over.

 _So much for a relaxing cup of tea. I can't even hold a cup like this._

As I enter, I overhear a shouting match taking place up ahead –

"I don't care what Elenwen thinks! We did not set the Thalmor up for anything of the sort!"

"Lady Elisif, please, try to understand what this looks like – Vicci is killed, and eye witnesses saw an Altmer in Thalmor garb leave the city!" _Witnesses implies there were multiple people._

The thought fades to be remembered later, I'm too stressed to think clearly right now.

 _Gods, only one day to relax. Is it too much to wish for?_

Alright, so I might be growing resentful of my responsibilities. Sue me.

"Then that is a fault of theirs and not of my people! I demand Elenwen come speak to me herself if she wishes to talk of this! I'm sick of writing letters of platitude whilst she resides not an hour from my city!"

The conversation falls back into hushed tones, making it impossible for me to hear more of what is said – not that much would register.

It takes a few meditative breaths to calm down enough to even face Marcurio, let alone speak: "Shall we?"

A small part of me, the part not overshadowed by thoughts of undead and queens, is proud at how composed I sound, even if I don't look like it. Marcurio, who's chatting with a young maid as I enter the main hall, fall quiet upon seeing my no doubt ashen face and frowns worriedly.

"Are you quite alright? The lady here was so kind as to give us the key since Falk Firebeard forgot to give it. Should we wait until you feel better?"

I shake my head mutely, gesturing him to go ahead and giving the maid a small smile. She smiles back unsurely before brandishing her broom and setting to work once more.

Being seconds away from a panic attack – or at least a massive temper tantrum – makes me glad for the dismissal as I follow my travel companion through the creaking door, heading into the forbidden wing with a hand on my axe and fingers crossed.

 _I hope Potema's not home, at the very least._

As the door falls shut behind me, I take another deep breath, even as I'm assaulted by dust and cobwebs.

 _Could the servant we met on the streets be a servant of Potema's? It seems too likely – I don't like it. Not at all. And it would not be who I expected. Though I guess, I can only deal with these problems one step at a time – the first being to search this place for anything related to the mad queen…_

Fear grips my throat like an iron fist, squeezing my airways shut, but… There is something unnatural about it.

It is not normal fear, or apprehesion.

I frown, purposefully breathing slower to better sense the oppressive air, the lingering darkness surrounding us in this place. It's unsettlingly familiar, on the tip of my tongue – this feeling in the back of my head, shadows nipping at my heels as we make our way through, like creatures straight out of Oblivion attempting to drag us down with them.

…Oblivion…

I come to a stop in the middle of the hallway on the second floor, Marcurio walking ahead heedlessly, muttering spells under his breath and glancing every which way carefully. He, too, can feel the shift in the air. The Daedric energy warping this place, seeking to claw its way into our souls in a manner reminiscent of the times I spent in Namira's coven, and that time as Nightcaller temple…

 _This atmosphere is not just Daedric_ , I realize with a shocked inhale, eyes widening. Not Potema, though I now wish it was.

No, this is…

A Daedric Prince.

 _I was right after all._ Is my first thought. Then:

 _Fuck! Marcurio..!_

My stomach lurches as my feet catch up with my brain and I start moving towards the wizard just ahead.

"Wait! Marcurio there's a-"

I blink and suddenly, I'm in an empty hallway. There's no muttering wizard in front of me, the footsteps in the dust stopping abruptly.

Hurriedly, I run towards the spot, waving around madly as if to find some sort of immaterial handle to open a magic portal – but no luck. I make my way to the end of the hallway, the blue carpet forming dust clouds under my feet, fine particles swirling around my ankles, but the Daedric energy taunts me just at the edges of my vision, never quite showing itself or Marcurio's location.

The hallway is deserted, and another five minutes of frantic searching proves that I'm all alone, as if Marcurio – _brown eyes, a merry laugh, the clinking of bottles and warmth in the night, the stars –_ has vanished into thin air.

Frozen in the middle of the hallway, I try to process it, my thoughts waging war with themselves – I know, for a fact, that Marcurio is more than able to take care of himself. In a normal situation.

On the other hand, Daedra of any kind are cunning, violent, _dangerous_ – and unlike me or even Erandur, Marcurio has little experience with their wiles and dirty tricks.

I take a shuddering breath, but I can't manage to draw in any air. I sink to my knees against the wall underneath one of the windows framed by deceptively calm blue tapestries and curl up like a child, burying my head in my arms, knees drawn close to my chest. A shiver runs through me, but it isn't one caused by the cold.

Potema Septim is in or near the Blue Palace.

I'm nauseous.

Marcurio has been abducted by a Daedric Prince.

My chest aches as if I'm having a heart attack.

I'm the only one who either knows of, or is capable of dealing with, both of those issues. I curl up tighter, a small whimper passing my lips. I'm alone. I have no idea what to do.

… _Suddenly, I don't feel like I'm capable of dealing with this at all._

Soundlessly, I let the panic rise and overcome me, choking me, wrapping me in a blanket of suffocation and fear and the essence of _I can't_ and I stay like that, eyes shut tightly and fingers digging into my scalp –

Until a horrific scream penetrates the oppressive air and heavy silence, piercing the bubble of static around me like a knife tearing through flesh and bone.

With the Daedric Prince being hopefully still busy with Marcurio – not killing or injuring him, preferably – that scream can only mean one thing:

 _Potema has come._

 **A/N: Sheogorath? Bitch where? Hope this development threw you guys for a loop! Tell me what you thought and I'll see you next week!**


	45. Potema Returns

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Detailed gore and blood, bloodbath, Potema Septim, death.**

 _ **CAUTION! I DID NOT HOLD BACK WITH DESCRIPTIONS!**_

 _ **Last time…**_

 _With the Daedric Prince being hopefully still busy with Marcurio – not killing or injuring him, preferably – that scream can only mean one thing: Potema has come._

Chapter 45 – Potema Returns

Despite knowing that I will _have_ to deal with the resurrected Queen myself, I'm torn between remaining here, in the hallway, to wait for Marcurio to return safely and going to face the music together.

But that scream means my time to wait and collect myself has already passed.

I force my feet back underneath my legs shakily, finding purchase against the wall for the first few steps before moving down the stairs and towards the main hall at a carefully measured pace, using the precious seconds to gather my wits, self-preservation and battle instincts out of the shattered mess that is my mind at the moment.

I can barely think straight, the mountain of problems that has been growing for months now finally toppling over, threatening to crush me under its weight.

 _Still, I have a duty, if not to Astrid then to the innocents who will die by Potema's hand, should I not act right now._

I leave only the disturbed dust in my wake, the wizard's absence at my shoulder driving the knife in my chest in deeper.

 _I cannot die. I still have to get rid of Alduin – I suppose High Hrothgar is next on the list of destinations, though I'll drop by Markarth briefly to appease Calcelmo. And Ondolemar has to be carted to Winterhold. But there's no time. No time at all. I can't afford to think further than today when I might well not live to see the sun set._

I straighten in front of the door heading towards the rest of the Blue Palace with a grim determination. Having a concrete plan, something to cling to, always did help me gather myself in front of hardships.

I push open the door to be met with an unexpected sight. And not a pleasant one.

There's been a massacre.

It's all I can do not to puke over my boots that very second. _But Sithis' balls if I didn't wish I could afford to do just that._

The stench assaults me before I can even process the view – it's heavy, the unmistakable smell of undead – like month old mould and decay – mixed in with the heady scents of bodily fluids.

Ammonia and shit and stomach acids, along with something akin to iron, which I know to be blood.

When my lips part in shock, I taste ozone in the air, the hair-raising sensation of a finger of ice crawling up my spine.

 _Magic. Necromancy. The foulest of all._

My eyes catch up with my nose and tongue –

 _I feverishly wish they hadn't._

The main hall is a bloodbath – the gory crimson is splattered across the dark stone arches and the walls in long streaks and arterial sprays, on the chandelier and the vases – the floor is covered in puddles of red, flowing like tiny, macabre rivers into the small seams between the tiles. It's seeping into my boots as I stand frozen, and I dare not think of who it belonged to – the fates of the guards is all too apparent.

In a strange, almost detached way I look upon the ruined uniforms – ruined not because they are torn to shreds, no, but because there is not even a gleam of steel visible underneath the gore and tattered skin and the yellow of piss near what were once legs.

It's almost as if the skin and hair were a parts of the uniform – empty, like fabric, if not for the blood vessels and remaining pieces of a skull and some odd bones, if not for the blood and the pieces of muscle and the open-jawed terror of a bloodied, skinless skull with an empty, wide blue eye. A broken helmet, supposed to have provided protection, dangles from the chandelier.

An arm, the remains of it, like an empty, worn sleeve, is extended towards me. It's pierced with tiny white fragments like shrapnel made of bone. There is no hand in sight, but as I shuffle away from the place instinctively, my heel taps noiselessly against a severed finger, pale and unbelievingly tiny amongst the smear of blood it's lying in. As I make the mistake of glancing down to do a double-take, it _twitches_.

I can't _breathe._

Stepping back through the door of the Pelagius Wing, closing it so as to avoid unnecessary noise, and managing to stumble over to a vase before hurling - I throw up as if I'm able to throw the memories of what I just saw, burned onto my retina, along with my last meal. The sour taste that remains is heavy and filthy in my mouth as I shake all over, every blink of my eyes conjuring horrific images onto the closed eyelids.

 _I'm not sleeping soundly for the next two months._

Stubbornly, I keep my eyes wide open, blinking rapidly as they flood with tears. I allow myself a single heartbeat to get myself together before trying again.

The scene is no less grizzling, but at the very least I will not throw up a second time – _gag, at most_ , I concede grimly as a single blue eye, nerves still attached, stares at me unseeingly, unblinkingly, between the shredded leaves of a potted plant.

The thought of what had happened to the guards is something I push down as deeply as I can before it can fully take form. I don't need my imagination to provide me with _more_ reasons to become an insomniac.

Up on the balcony, a maid has been speared to the far wall with solid ice through the chest. _She must have been the one stupid enough to scream_. A mercy kill, compared to the others. I can only feel pity for her corpse now, before suppressing even that, the ringing in my ears alerting me to the fact that I'm probably - _certainly –_ in shock.

 _I don't even know her name._

… _I owe her my thanks, in a twisted way, for alerting me to death-inducing trouble._

Something wet drips onto my cheek when I step forwards at last, taking cover by crouching near the stairs.

I swipe at it without thinking, only for my fingertips to come back into my vision stained with red.

There's a lump in my throat that refuses to leave even after swallowing _. Don't look up_.

Nearly making the amateur mistake of holding my breath in terror, I crawl up the stairs to watch the proceedings. _I would be anything but surprised if this place is to be renamed the 'Red Palace' in the near future._ The quip is laced with hysteria, and my expression must be truly ugly.

I adjust my grip on the hilts of my axe and dagger, quickly analysing the scene unfolding right ahead.

Jarl Elisif is the first person I notice – her back ramrod straight and her lips pursed into a near-invisible line. There's a glower on her face, but I can read the fear in the tautness of her features, the line of her shoulders.

The effort to keep herself together is admirable, and honestly, after what I've heard of this particular lady, I'm pleasantly surprised at the backbone she possesses.

In front of her, in a half-hearted circle, stand three people: two men and a woman. A blonde is trying to sneak away via a side corridor, but nobody else seems to be paying him much mind, and therefore neither do I. _Let the coward flee._

One of Elisif's protectors I recognise as Falk Firebeard – I wonder absently what he think he can do, holding only a measly dagger. The one next to him, taking centre spot, carries an orcish blade.

 _Promising. I'm guessing he's her personal guard… a Housecarl, shall we say._

But by far the person I'd rather be protected by, in my humble opinion, is the stone-faced woman on the far left. The ice spike and lightning bolt that light up her hands remind me of my own wizard – though I'm rather sure Marcurio is no vampire.

It's none of my business.

In fact, the reason why I'm here commands the full attention of all four people in the hall.

The woman, for it is female, even though every move it makes has her appearance shiver like a mirage, showing the bare, white bone underneath, smiles.

It's not a pleasant sight, and a shiver runs down my spine, unbidden.

 _It's a good thing, in a terrible way, that the guards are in such a state. She can't use them for her amusement… or flesh shields._

The crown on her head glows with a powerful Magic enhancing enchantment, twisting alternately around luxurious curls and resting upon a bleak skull. The Wolf Queen is clad in an elaborate gown, awfully reminiscent of the dress Nocturnal 's statues are seen to wear, if leaving more skin covered – replacing an open back with a long, luxuriously furred cape dyed in red.

It's not the dye of the fabric.

 _She was beautiful once._

I shift deeper into the shadows, thanking Sithis that I haven't been discovered yet. I had to get myself together. Just for today. Just a little longer.

 _Well then. Without reliable back-up, how am I going to deal with one of Skyrim's most feared former monarchs that rose from the dead? An infamous necromancer and cruel woman, no less? Damnit! If only she was away plotting with the Daedric Prince Vile, and not here attempting to overthrow the government in such unstable times._

I grit my teeth and remain still as a statue, waiting with bathed breath for what is to come next. Whatever it is, I'm sure a fight to the death will be included. _If only I had Meridia's artefact!_

Whatever. My orders are to kill Potema, and since she's a mage and I'm at a disadvantage, I guess I'll have to catch her off-guard.

"What in Oblivion do you think you're doing, wraith?" The Housecarl bites, clutching his weapon tighter. Elisif's grip on the armrests of her throne tighten, her fingers trembling ever-so-slightly.

The undead queen turns to him, and I can see the blood draining from the man's face as that terrifying smile under empty eye sockets is aimed at him.

"Miserable worm," She hisses, and her voice holds an echo, a sense of the cold grip of death's seduction flowing through the air thick enough to cut, " _I_ am your rightful Queen. The child on my throne is unworthy of cleaning my shoes, compared to my power!"

As if on cue, a magical wind sweeps through the room, the undead woman's wispy, dark hair dancing upwards like a black fire, the wind pulling roughly at the clothing of the others in the room. Potema lifts a single finger at them imperiously, the image flickering between supple pink flesh and dead, dead, white bone.

"Bow, and your death shall be swift." She allows graciously, and I can almost see Firebeard trying to bite back hysterical laughter. For a wraith without vocal chords, her voice is surprisingly strong, if raspy. _Gods, why am I analysing her VOICE, when I should be checking for ways to kill her?_

If I was the type of person to think themselves better than the rest of the common rabble, now would be the moment to call out some sort of witty remark and blow my cover prematurely – _Looking at you, Marcurio._ Since I'm not, I just do what I must to avoid a world-destroying crisis - _no biggie, I can be done by dinner._ I snarl mentally, changing the angle I'm pointing the dagger and preparing for the backlash.

 _Breathe in._

 _Breathe out._

 _ **Throw.**_

My heart nearly gives out on me when rather than in the neck vertebrae, the dagger sinks deeply into her back, slightly off-mark, yet still up to the hilt.

Were the damn woman human, she'd be dead.

But my aim was off – _Marcurio's absence surely cannot have this big an impact on me? –_ and thus the Necromancer 'lives'.

And now those empty eye-sockets are trained on me.

Slowly, since staying when there's no cover is useless, I step out of my hiding spot, glancing briefly to gouge the shock levels of the Solitude court before keeping my gaze firmly on the disturbing skull-yet-face visage of the Wolf Queen. She seizes me up, tilting her head to the side slightly.

The gesture might have been charming once.

"Queen Potema," I greet cordially, as if unaffected, acting strong for the sake of my own sanity.

I keep my axe firmly in my hand, though I don't yet dare to raise it against her. Even so I am ready to jump into action in a blink, keeping my expression stoic and facing the walking corpse with as much dignity as I can muster, though I can feel my knees trembling in fear.

My phobia of the undead never really leaves me, despite of how many draughr I kill.

"Ah, finally." The Queen smiles coldly, "I have been waiting for you. I'll admit, I'd not expected an… elf. No matter, for your physical form is not why you are feared. Isn't that right, little one?"

My insides freeze and I force myself to take a calming breath and not start yelling just yet. Her suddenly almost friendly tone throws me off, but I can't let my guard down. Then her full statement comes through to my brain, and I snort.

" _Nobody_ ever expects an elf."

Her gaze narrows, dark amusement playing on her lips. "Oh? Were you wronged, little thing?" She glides closer, not touching the ground, approaching me. She laughs, and it sends more shivers down my spine, not in the least from the shroud of cold that seems to cloak her.

Behind her, the Housecarl shifts.

I can't afford to keep looking – not when the Wolf Queen gently, but unyielding, lifts my chin between her fingers, forcing me to look her in the eyes, not that she has them, other than the unearthly purple light emitting from the black holes where eyes should have been. Shuddering at the sensation of bone on skin and the idea of having the mage's most powerful weapon at my vulnerable throat, I squirm.

"I can ensure you are never wronged again, little thing." She croons, caressing the side of my face. I lean away from her touch, but her other hand keeps me rooted to the spot, her grip bruising, impossibly strong through the illusion of gentleness.

If she were alive, her tone might have been seductive.

Unbidden, she continues. "Join me. My army needs a general, and you are truly perfect, little one. To serve at my side eternally, as the silly mortals bow before us, where none shall ever raise a word or blade against you. This I promise, little thing. Your power is -"

I never get to find out what honeyed words would be used to describe my powers, since a loud cry interrupts her spiel, the Housecarl in plated armour bringing his orcish blade down upon the dead Queen's head.

Potema screeches like a harpy, the sound making my sensitive ears ring painfully as she releases me and whips her head around to face the other man, enraged. The blade has only nicked her head, a small chip of bone falling to the floor as if in slow-motion, before the white-hot glowing corpse waves her hand in a wide arc, sending a wave of raw, Daedric power towards the warrior, sending him flying backwards into the wall with a sickening thud.

I use the split-second distraction to roughly pull my dagger out of her back.

 _Marcurio isn't stepping out of that accursed Pelagius Wing, nor are any soldiers arriving to help. We're on our own._

The necromancer queen notices my desperate glance towards the doors as I back away quickly, coming to a stop next to the others protecting Elisif, and cackles evilly.

"No help will come, little one. Our army is outside yet." The thought of serving under this wraith is enough to make me swallow back acid at the back of my throat, so revolting. I refuse to be her thrall.

I meet the eyes of the vampiric court wizard with a growl. "If I die, turn my body to ashes." I order her, and a small smirk pulls at her lip before she nods and we face the threat to Solitude, and all of Skyrim, side by side.

 _How I wish Marcurio was here._ I think bitterly, before allowing the battle lust to drown out any thoughts unrelated to the death of the wraith in front of me.

"Allow me to give an answer to your proposal." I purr darkly, inhaling deeply as Potema cries out in anger, preparing more spells.

 _Thank Sithis for detours on the road._

"KRII LUN AUS!" I Shout, allowing the dark purple energy to burn through my throat – though since the last time I was at Riften, the burning sensation has lessened, allowing for more Shouts without tearing my vocal chords to pieces – and it hits the Wolf Queen dead on.

 _Potema Wolf Queen._

Once more, she shrieks, this time charging as the doors bang open and draughr start to flood the room at a running pace, coming to their queen's aid.

 _On this day._

The Court Wizard raises her hands and fires the first spell even as the Housecarl takes up a defensive position in front of Elisif, who somehow got her hands on a bow while I wasn't looking. From other parts of the palace, people begin to yell in alarm.

I grimace, hefting my axe and blocking a strike from Potema before a well-aimed Ice Spike sends her to back off.

 _You will find your death in me._

From here on, all bets are off.

 **A/N: Pretty sure this warrants an M rating, so I'm glad I changed that early on. I am also pretty sure that as far as graphic violence goes, this wasn't as bad as it could have been (as I wanted it to be) because of my inexperience at writing battle scenes and/or violence. If you've got tips or tricks, they'd be very much appreciated!**


	46. Welcome to the Madness

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Gore and blood, death, Imperials. LONG-ish CHAPTER!**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _I grimace, hefting my axe and blocking a strike from Potema before a well-aimed Ice Spike sends her to back off. From here on, all bets are off._

Chapter 46 – Welcome to the Madness

It might have taken five minutes.

It might have taken an hour.

All I know is that, at some point, a madly laughing Marcurio is dancing amongst the draughr, and the bloody massacre is made ridiculous by large amounts of sweetroll crumbles, entire _cheese wheels,_ and terrified chickens.

 _Literal chickens._

I'm nearly in a fit of hysterical laughter at the sight, until a Dremora Lord pops up out of nowhere and starts hacking away at anyone, be they enemy or friend.

Potema is distracted, which is a major understatement - and the battle is over quick afterwards.

I don't even bother to remove the corpse from where it topples over, partially draped over my shoulder – too busy staring mindlessly after the _cheese wheel_ that hit her in the head and killed her thanks to the effect of multiple Marked for Death Shouts.

My companion, casually twirling a strange wooden staff between his hands, approaches me with a grin on his face, and I shrug off Potema's remains with nary another thought for the bitch. I did my job. I'm done. I'll be happy if I'm not referred to as any variety of 'little thing' for the rest of my life.

But to more pressing issues –

I make a vain attempt at keeping my voice as bland as possible.

"Marcurio, I've seen odd things in this province. But honestly, I must ask: _what the fuck?_ "

He has the decency to look sheepish at my accusing stare. Nobody is paying much attention to us yet as the randomly transfigured draughr change back into themselves, unmoving. "I… Had to help treat Pelagius the Third's mind to get Sheogorath to return from his vacation?"

That takes a while to process. _Sheogorath the Mad God. Right. No wonder this place is, well, madness. Quite the ridiculous ending to such an intense battle, though. I suppose it will help ruin Potema's credibility, if anything. Then again…_

 _Sheogorath the mad god. The Daedric Prince. Marcurio is now his champion, since he's obviously been entrusted with whatever that artefact is._

…

My mind briefly turns to Vaermina's defeat in Nightcaller Temple, and Erik leading Namira's coven. And then myself, waking up after over three thousand years of sleep. Oh, and dragons returning to Tamriel.

I shrug. _Stranger things happened._

I'm more relieved that he's back than surprised at the tricks he's pulled out of his sleeves.

"Alright. Next time, do attempt not to make me assume you're dead. I don't care if your new… benefactor has to turn the sky green with rainbow polka dots to do it. Just…" _Don't scare me like that again._ I want to say. Instead, I glance away with a sigh, feeling exhaustion settle in as the adrenaline wears off.

The mage chuckles softly, gently, placing a solid, scarred hand on my shoulder. Confused, I look back up at his face, feeling the tension drain from my taut shoulders at his smile, my lips parting slightly in wonder, though I'll play it off as surprise. Noticing something in my gaze, the Imperial flushes a deep pink, clearing his throat.

"I won't. Promise. You're stuck with me until Sovengarde and beyond – you still owe me four hundred septims, after all." I can't help myself – the relief of seeing him, alive, and knowing Potema is dead – I snicker helplessly, rubbing my eyes to get rid of the sudden fatigue and tidal, heart-wrenching wave of _affection_ threatening to make my knees buckle.

Still grinning, I turn searching eyes to the rest of the room, a pang of worry entering my heart at the sight of the carnage – the bodies, the sticky foods, and the blood. Elisif, bow still in hand, approaches me. She could almost pass as a warrior, if not for the lack of scars and callouses I, Marcurio, and even the Steward have. "Will you be alright here?" I ask as kindly as I can manage, which is still pretty brusque as I kind of want to shower, badly.

She pauses, eyes roaming over the two of us as if committing our faces to memory, before inclining her head. "Yes. The messages are already starting to flow in from all across the city. I owe you my life, Mr..?" She trails off, frowning at me pensively. My grin showing a tad more teeth than necessary, I shrug.

"Fjaldi, my Jarl." There's hints of honest respect when I speak to her – she didn't faint in front of Potema, though she did not speak, she did not shriek in fright.

That means she's earned herself a few points.

 _With the right motivation… She can become something more._ Almost subconsciously, I check for the flaws in her posture, only to find it perfect. _So it's her mind and confidence that need training. Hmm… Perhaps I'll see what I can do about that, while I'm helping out around here._

She nods decisively. "Fjaldi. Solitude owes you and yours a debt, one I cannot possibly hope to repay in the near future. However, I ask that you give us aid once more." She gestures around the room, even as more guards start coming in, all heading for a ragged Falk Firebeard, who seems even more stressed than he was during Potema's attack.

Elisif follows my gaze and presses her lips into a thin line, a worried, uncertain frown on her face.

"There have been casualties outside these palace walls. A horde of draughr attacked from the catacombs and the outer walls. A young bard, Illdi, the food vendor Jala, the blacksmith's apprentice, Heimvar, and a child -"

She falters, grief clouding her expression for a moment, "Svari. They're the only ones that have been proclaimed dead so far, but the accounts of the guards still have to come through and the injured are many in number. Not to mention the cleaning up of the draughr and -" she gestures around us vaguely.

"Please. If not for me, do it for the ones who left us today." She begs, hands clasped in front of her. "Tullius was in Dragonbridge during the attack, but he's heading here soon and will arrive within three hours. I want to have things in order as much as possible by then."

I incline my head in understanding. _If Tullius comes back to this, he will use it to undermine her position, effectively crippling Solitude further. He'll also order his soldiers, which leaves less people to help with the chaos._ Quickly, I formulate a basic plan.

"Very well, my Jarl. If I may make a suggestion?" She nods eagerly, happy to have some, any sort of plan. Grimly, I think of the dead, before making up my mind.

"Make a central funeral pyre for the draughr, so they will not rise again. Maybe use oil to get the fire going swiftly. The injured should be gathered in one spot, so medical aid can be administered faster." I bite the inside of my cheek, frowning and looking at the gathered group of people – a haggard mixture of citizens, nobles, Imperial soldiers and city guards.

"Divide the tasks according to ability – let the soldiers drag draughr to the pyre. Those with medical ability should go tend the injured." I glance over my shoulder at Marcurio, who, bless the man, stands at full attention, face as serious as it's ever been. _I'm glad he's at my side again._

"Did I miss anything?" I ask him softly, even as Elisif starts handing out orders – including the order for the deceased citizens to be brought to the Hall of the dead immediately. _Good, let her think for herself._ Still, it's a testament to the chaos and general shock and exhaustion that everyone listens without complaints.

It's always easier to just follow along.

"A priest should come here to sanctify Potema's remains." The mage suggests slowly, and Elisif nods determinedly, sending for 'Styrr' right away.

 _At least Elisif seems to have everything in hand quickly enough over here._ I exchange a meaningful look with Marcurio, then can't help but let my eyes wander across the Blue Palace's main hall distantly. This… It doesn't seem real, somehow. A deep breath as I close my eyes, focusing.

I want to sleep. The fading adrenaline gives away how tired I truly am, how close to collapsing in an unconscious heap. Frustrated, I grit my teeth together harshly. _I can't. I have to – I MUST endure. I have to keep moving, and help the people here._

…

The Jarl of Solitude and widow of the previous High King stands in the centre of the courtyard next to her Steward, and as people begin to trickle in, citizens of Solitude that are mostly uninjured, confused and scared, her soothing yet firm voice has them leave with a new purpose each and every time, Falk Firebeard keeping her from being overwhelmed.

I turn, content for now, and pull Marcurio along with me by his torn sleeve. "We're going to help." I explain as we make our way down to the marketplace, where smoke billows from above the buildings and a stench of burning flesh lingers. Seeing the look of disgust on his face, I offer: "Get injured to the temple, I believe they're healing there. Meanwhile, feel free to speed up the process." Gesturing at the general direction of the pyre, I let go of him.

Under his unreadable gaze, I walk up to the front of the Vicci residence, pulling a Draughr Wright from under a broken barrel and carelessly dragging it along with me by the decaying ankle. "I'll help wherever. Meet me at the Blue Palace when things have calmed down a bit."

He nods and moves alongside me until I drop the dead weight onto the surprisingly large stack of other half-rotten corpses with varying shapes and sizes, the owner of the Winking Skeever dumping another barrel of oil onto the flames with the blacksmith's wife – Sayma, if I remember correctly from my first visit.

Sighing, I unclasp my cuirass and let the badly dented and torn items clatter to the ash-covered ground, rolling my shoulder with a groan as blood can finally flow again – Potema threw me into a wall at some point, and I can tell in one glance that my trusty armour is finally done for.

I purse my lips in exasperation, rolling up my sleeves as I leave my cuirass where it fell – it barely adds to the junk littered all over the place, Ancient Nordic weapons and armour scattered across the uneven cobblestones. I can make something new at a later time, when I'm not dragging corpses and cleaning up after Potema's invasion.

For now I have a city to help.

…

… _Again_.

Tullius is not a happy man when he walks into the city. I spot him and the small Imperial garrison behind him as their shiny, untainted armour catches the sun amongst the otherwise grey, filthy and dreary populace of Solitude.

He's even less happy when I stop him from walking any further, halting the soldiers along with him and giving the man an unimpressed gaze. "You must be the esteemed general Elisif spoke of." I seize him up as if he's but a Dwemer Spider trying to blend in with the Centurions.

"I'd ask why you weren't here when Potema invaded, but I suppose I'll not get any honest answer. Instead, may I inquire as to what, exactly, you're planning to do to help clean this up?"

He scowls at me menacingly. _Nice try. My Ma is ten times scarier than you could ever hope to be._ "That is Imperial business."

I return the glare with equal force. "It is _Solitude_ business." I smirk sardonically. "Don't worry. Elisif is taking care of it. In fact, why don't you stay to help here? It'd be a pity to throw her off by disparaging remarks about her ability. A grave insult when she's allowed you to stay here so graciously."

 _A few months ago I wasn't ready to antagonise an army. Today, I've decided I'm sick of their shit and I will stick up for Elisif, who really deserves more credit than she's gotten so far._

 _All those stories I have heard of her being a weak-willed, impressionable puppet have been from one side of the conflict. Any woman who can look Potema in the eye, sitting on the Necromancer bitch's own former throne and refusing to leave has more balls than half the Imperial army, as far as I'm concerned._

The general draws in a sharp, angry breath, his eyes flashing when one of the men behind him calls out: "Who are you?" It's not said loudly, but with authority, and the man's intricate armour – This reeks of top officials.

"The guy who made sure Potema isn't sitting on the throne right now." I give the man a small smirk. "A pleasure. Now do me a favour, come down to the ground with us common folk and help clean up this mess. I'm too tired to play politics. Or, gods help me, play _nice_."

Still grumbling, I turn around and set back to work, where I'd been hefting a huge draughr Death lord onto my back to get it to the pyre. I'm left struggling for almost a minute before another set of hands join in, easily taking half the weight as we make for the pyre.

"I'm Gaius Maro, son of Commander Maro of the Penitus Oculatus. I assure you the pleasure is all mine, Dragonborn." Spluttering, I whip my head towards him so fast I feel a crick in my neck.

" _How_ do youknow that _?_ " The young man snickers as we throw the draughr into the flames, both of us covering our faces from the wave of soot and dust that follows as the creature is engulfed.

"Word's gotten out about you. You have the favour of several Jarls of Skyrim and the Arch-Mage of Winterhold, helped solve the Magnus Crisis, you're recognised as a valid Dwemer scholar by Calcelmo himself… And now the Thalmor are after you – not that it's any Imperial concern. It's impressive, how you stayed under wraps for so long."

I can't help but snicker a little as we join forces even as Tullius goes off to meet Elisif regardless of my efforts. The other soldiers of the garrison, with the exception of a guard for the general, start helping with the clean-up – much to the relief of the exhausted citizens and city guards present.

Gaius stares around the mess in the city streets, groaning. "We've got a _long_ way to go." He laments. I look around at the destruction – most of the buildings are fully intact, really. It's just the stains that are going to be a bitch to wash out.

"Aye, I think you may be right." I concede, watching as a woman hurriedly carries a pitcher of water to where the pyre flames have caught on to the nearby shrubbery.

…

It's midnight, and the fire outside the window casts dancing shadows onto the far wall, the stench of burned flesh luckily not seeping through the firm walls.

We're at the Winking Skeever. I'm standing at the edge of the bed, staring blankly down at the covers as the willpower that kept me running on empty all day splutters and fades to nothing.

Worried brown eyes glance at me, coming to rest on a bead of sweat running down the side of my forehead.

"…Are… Are you alright? You don't look so good."

My eyes meet his.

I'm like a vase that's been glues together from hundreds of shards, hundreds of problems and filled with water. Hot, painful, boiling water.

Finally, after forcing calm for so long, the lingering stress and pain boils over.

I let myself fall apart.

…

"Now there's a Mer I'm happy to see." Elisif states, the underlying relief in her voice belying her lack of calm as she sits back on her throne a few days later. Next to her, Falk Firebeard gives me a solemn nod in respect, and I return the gesture readily before turning my full attention to the Jarl.

Behind me, as a soothing presence stands Marcurio, his new staff flung over his shoulder a reminder of his new status in Oblivion.

Tullius is also in the room, looking chagrined. Elisif, on the other hand, seems rather… smug.

 _I wonder what I missed. I was so tired I passed out for far too long and woke back up to a new day, empty stomach, and the Wabbajack inches from my face._ To my dying breath shall I deny that I let out a high-pitched scream when I woke up. My smile stiffens slightly at the memory.

"If you'd like, would you follow me to my meeting chamber? I wish to speak to the two warriors that saved my city, and all of Skyrim." As she says this, her eyes roam over me in interest.

"Though I understand," she adds mildly, "If the Dragonborn is too busy a Mer to attend such trivial things."

 _Crap._

I freeze like a deer in Magelight, opening my mouth as if to speak before coming up short, floundering uselessly until Marcurio takes pity on me. _"_ We'd be most happy to. _"_

 _How? How does everyone suddenly know? The Imperial Special Forces are one thing but… What bastard talked?_ I can only come up with one name, to be fair… Someone who knows I'm Dragonborn, someone who wanted more information on my actions…

As we follow the Jarl to a room behind the throne, equipped with a stately fireplace, a long, carved wooden table and some matching chairs, I briefly allow my expression to darken with rage before filing it away for later.

 _Delphine and I need to have a conversation that's long overdue._

I do understand why she'd spread rumours of me. After all, knowing the Dragonborn arrived with more certainty, or proof, than a Shout from some old guys on top of a mountain will certainly boost general morale amongst the people of Skyrim.

 _Of course,_ I allow begrudgingly, _Potema DID sort of call me out on being Dragonborn yesterday._

Elisif sits down at the head of the table, still smiling pleasantly, and I blink, abashed, as I notice that I've been caught daydreaming again. Quickly, I sit down next to Marcurio, who shakes his head with a small snicker. The Jarl of Solitude clears her throat gently, straightening carefully.

"First of all, I'd like to extend my thanks. Not only did you save me and my court, you did Skyrim itself a great service in defeating the Wolf Queen, but you also extended help far beyond that grievous task, tending to the injured and burning the aggressors. Solitude is in your debt." She smiles genially, spreading her arms in a welcoming gesture.

"I never really got the chance for this, did I? Welcome, travellers, to the Blue Palace."

 **A/N: And another chapter down! I honestly can say I hadn't expected this development myself. My characters ran away from me and screwed over my carefully planned plot. Oh well.**

 **Special surprise of the day: I have written a second book for the mini-series! It includes small hints for the future of this story, and I hope you all enjoy!**

 **...And maybe you'll spot the small "Easter Egg" I've hidden in this instalment…**

Dwemer Constructs in Skyrim, Vol II.

By: Fjaldi **dû Bthardamz, dûn-ek Nchuand-Zel.**

 _Introduction:_

 _I shall keep this brief, as I have much to discuss and you may already know me from the previous volume, "Dwemer Constructs in Skyrim, Vol I". This second volume shall discuss the long-forgotten cavern system of_ _ **Fal Zhardum Din**_ _– Blackreach, in your tongue, as I felt it needed a book all to itself. For the sake of continuity, I will henceforth refer to the cavern system as 'Blackreach'._

 _I wish to give a special thanks to the friends who joined me on the quest to uncover Blackreach, whose names shall remain unmentioned as per their wishes, for making the writing of this work possible._

 _Blackreach, "_ _ **Fal Zhardum Din**_ _":_

 _A geological anomaly the likes of which have not been discovered since Alftand first dug into its grand ceiling, Blackreach is a deep underground cavern which has developed its own ecosystem due to its unusual size and time spend undisturbed by the rest of Nirn. In other words, stepping into the damp, pollen-rich, glittering blue air for the first time feels reminiscent to setting foot into an Outer Realm of wonder and beauty._

 _Allow me to describe: All you see is cast into an unnatural, yet lovely, blue glow. Large lakes and picturesque waterfalls from unknown origins bring moisture into the air, providing the humidity needed for the local vegetation to grow – and what a strange sight it is, to see mushrooms the size of trees, swaying gently in non-existing wind! Cave walls rise high and glow with resources not yet exploited, like strangely shaped stars in a clear, rock-filled night sky. And along the cavern floor, there run yellow stone roads between the numerous Dwemer towers, buildings and bridges in almost the same state they were in three thousand years ago, excellently preserved._

 _It is not all there is to be said on the unique environment. It is such a strange place that mere words cannot do it justice – and so I shall waste no more words and leave you to find out the rest for yourself._

 _Blackreach has several natural resources that I have yet to encounter above the ground, or in other Dwemer citadels._

 _For alchemists, one particularly interesting find is the Crimson Nirnroot. The renowned Master Alchemist, Sinderion of Sunhold, has spent a lifetime struggling to grasp how it works, and from his notes I can now give you a general idea: as the name implies, this sub-type of Nirnroot has a rich red hue. Similar to its cousin, Crimson Nirnroot is attracted to water. On its own, this type of Nirnroot is dangerously poisonous, damaging your health. I do, unfortunately, not know all its properties, as I am no alchemist by trade. Take note that samples do not last long outside of the caverns if they are not transported in a pot with roots intact and set in local Blackreach soil._

 _Other interesting anomalies in Blackreach are the fused Soul Gem geodes and Aetherium deposits. According to ancient Dwemer lore I remember from childhood, it is said that_ _ **Arknurlaf**_ _, the one you know as the Daedric Prince Meridia, fell from grace and was cast down to Nirn at one point in Ancient history. It was speculation that part of her power shattered around her on impact, along with the remnants of the Aether she Fell from, and many Dwemer hold her Fall as the cause for the existence of both Soul Gems and Aetherium, the strongest mineral known to my people – and, by extension, Blackreach._

 _It is my hope that one day, we may re-discover the means needed to mine Aetherium, but as it stands, that is a dream for the far future, when you grasp my people's creations._

 _The two largest buildings in Blackreach are the Debate Hall, build to serve as diplomatic centre where the Aetherium Alliance was written before it was torn apart, and the Tower of Mzark. Whereas the Debate Hall has since lost its purpose and has become a Falmer stronghold, the Tower of Mzark has faithfully held one of the most powerful artefacts Nirn has ever known: an Elder Scroll. It has since been removed as its power was needed, but perhaps I might return it one day and seal it as my predecessors did._

 _Blackreach, overall, is a place I both loathe and adore, for whilst I have gained much insight from my visit to the great caverns, I have also lost someone most dear to its depths. And if, perhaps, you are still wondering who uncovered the fabled deepest city in Skyrim, then look no further, for the ones to rediscover Blackreach and put it back on the maps were my companions and myself._

 _I remind you, finally, that Blackreach for all its beauty is not a pleasant place to be. The waters is toxic, the plants are poisonous, the Falmer run wild and own slaves of all races whom they have dragged from the surface: be cautious when you descend, for the greatest wonders of the earth you will see can as easily become your final resting place._

 **A/N: I can't resist adding lore. Information on the Dwemer is a rare commodity in the game, so I'm technically not breaking canon.**


	47. Make Your Move

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Homosexuality of the non-explicit sort. Fluff. Also contracts and politics, don't worry about it.**

 **A/N: Thank you all so much for your support! It really made me happy to hear from you! I got such amazing PM's of people liking the chapter I'd been beating myself up over, just, wow.**

 **FFnet won't let me re-upload the previous chapter so bear with me for a bit.**

 **ANYWAY, HERE'S 7000+ WORDS FOR YOU TO ENJOY!**

 _ **Last time…**_ " _I never really got the chance for this, did I? Welcome, travellers, to the Blue Palace."_

Chapter 47 – Make your Move

Elisif laughs a little, and it sounds a bit broken – understandable, seeing what we'd all gone through. Her face falls after a moment, and she runs a tired hand through her already unruly locks.

"Now. Due to recent events, I have a proposition for you. Solitude stands strong not only because of me; my court plays a key role in ensuring that we do not succumb to threats such as Potema Septim or the accursed civil war."

Her expressions darkens further, like clouds for the sun, and I worry my bottom lip between my teeth as I watch the young human like a hawk. I'm curious where she's going, I'll admit. She places her hands palm-down on the table as if to prevent herself from fidgeting in her agitation.

"Erikur, that _son of a – ahem._ Erikur, one of Solitude's former Thanes, attempted to flee the city through the catacombs. He ran into Potema's cavalry instead. The vampires have since been taken care of by the guards, and Erikur, Daedra take him, perished. This event leaves me rather… lacking in court members."

Elisif's gaze sharpens as she looks upon us, and - I don't know if it's my imagination, but is she holding back tears?

"Erikur was found guilty of being a traitor to Solitude posthumously. He was also one of my most prominent links to the rest of Skyrim via his businesses. The implications of this are varied and complex, but the most important thing right now is that all my information on current events in this province is checked for faults. That filthy backstabber made my job harder even than it needs to be. I hope to rectify this. And that, dear travellers, is where you come in."

Another pause.

"I wish to extend to you two the invitation to join my court as Thanes of Haafingar."

Marcurio and I exchange glances. A brief conversation in shrugs and raised eyebrows.

 _What do you think?_

 _We might as well listen to what she has to say. We could always decline._

 _It might prove advantageous to us. What of Ulfric?_

 _Fuck Ulfric._

 _Heh. Alright then. Let's listen to what my fellow Imperial has to say._

Elisif watches us 'converse' with a strangely knowing gleam in her eye, that disappears the moment I notice it is there. The jarl delicately folds her hands in front of her, leaning her elbows on the table so she may rest her head.

"What would such an arrangement entail, exactly?" Marcurio hedges carefully, mimicking her pose. It's an endearing sight to see, and I have to force my own eyes away from my friend in order to watch Elisif, who is grinning like the sabercat that caught the wolf.

"Usually, the procedure would follow the same lines as in other parts of Skyrim, if more stringent. You would need to become known to the people of my hold by showing them your capability and goodwill, then approach my steward in order to acquire a piece of property within Solitude. The former, I assure you, will not be an issue after your actions to protect and aid this city. Every citizen knows your names and brave deeds, Marcurio, Fjaldi."

I nod along with her slowly. _I suppose that since Haafingar is one of the most powerful holds, politically, the regulations are stricter. I can live with that._

Marcurio is still focused, his mind clearly whirring with questions and ideas and half-brained plans. The young jarl doesn't notice my quiet contemplation as it is quite clear she has seen that my companion is by far more politically savvy than myself, despite the fact that I hold more positions than him.

She continues: "As it stands, there is a house available – Proudspire Manor." The jarl clears her throat somewhat awkwardly: "Currently, the deed is worth 25,000 septims without additional furnishings."

"I am certain that I can enable you to pay in instalments, I understand it is highly unusual to have that kind of money lying about. Buying it would fulfil the official requirements for thaneship. However, I think it is essential we discuss your expected duties as Thanes before you sign anything."

 _She told us about Erikur being her link to the world outside Solitude. It can be easily assumed that she expects us to keep her updated as we travel the province, thus making use of our ability to move freely and relatively safely at no risk of her own, and without having to make due arrangements with third parties._

 _By allying ourselves with Solitude, we would essentially be enhancing her spy network – discounting military operations, because I refuse to be involved with the civil war more than I will be already if I accept this._

 _I wonder why Tullius keeps insisting that Elisif is but an unknowing little girl in far over her head. He definitely wouldn't have come up with this._

The house is pricy, though.

Marcurio breaks me from my musings by speaking up: "Actually, Jarl Elisif, we may be able to pay the full price in one go. It will take a cart and two horses, but we can sell all the things Fjaldi has stored away in Hjerim and Breezehome. The gems, armours, and ancient enchanted artefacts will get us quite far all on their own – nevermind the amount of raw materials and Dwemer odds and ends."

 _Ah. He's right. Who would have thought my hoarding habits would become useful one day?_

"We are _not_ selling my Smithing materials. _Nor_ the Dwemer artefacts." I mutter at him with a slight frown. As a Forgemaster, it is vital that I know where to get relevant materials at all times. _Plus, blacksmiths sometimes unknowingly sell materials of lower purity. I also want to keep a bit of my culture in my daily life – even if that just means exchanging the normal Nord tableware for Dwemer cups and plates._

He holds up his hands with a smirk. "Don't worry, I won't even have to touch it."

"Just because you learned Telekinesis doesn't mean you have to shove it into every second conversation we hold, 'Curio."

Elisif, however, is frowning worriedly. "Hjerim?"

 _Oh, shit, right. Hjerim is a pretty well-known mansion in Windhelm, home of her current worst adversary._

"I bought it because I needed storage space and no other sane being would want a house that had been used as a murderer's hideout." I explain easily, watching her face contort into something between horror and relief.

"I… See."

Marcurio stretches luxuriously, further easing the tension that had suddenly risen in the room. "Right. So, let me make sure I am getting this correctly: you wish to make _both of us_ Thane?"

The jarl nods. "Yes. You two seem close enough not to mind sharing accommodations. I figured you two were… Oh. And Erikur's house is not for sale until the investigation has concluded, which might take a while." Her face flushes, and if I were into woman I would have been swooning at the sheer attractiveness right about now.

However, I'm not, and I manage to keep a straight face as Marcurio coughs forcedly into his hand, averting his eyes.

I fight back a snicker.

 _Erikur must've done some stupid stuff if his place is being investigated thoroughly. Seriously, who keeps the proof of their fraud in their own house?_

"You figured we were..?" Marcurio prompts.

"That you were married."

My brain short-circuits. I very carefully do NOT look at my friend – _just a friend, don't forget that –_ and try to cover the blush on my own face and ears. But as my traitorous ears light up red like beacons, and judging by the sudden giggle fit of Elisif, I'm not doing a good job of covering it. Marcurio fidgets uncomfortably.

"Well, that's." Marcurio cuts himself off as his voice cracks.

I inhale deeply and let out a slightly breathless chuckle. "Well. We're not. It's fine."

The Imperial wizard next to me scratches the back of his neck a bit awkwardly, not looking at me as his eyes glaze over with a more vacant expression.

"Either way… I don't mind it. It would be nice to have a house to return to when all is said and done, I guess." He comments quietly, though the comment itself is far from disinteresting.

I stare at him helplessly as the truth hits me like a war hammer to the face.

 _That's right._

 _Marcurio doesn't have a home here in Skyrim. He was kicked out of the college in Cyrodill and travelled here as a last resort – I found him wasting his last two septims in a BAR, for Sithis' sake…_

 _He deserves a home. And there's going to be a point where I will have to go to places he can't follow._

 _I can't let him return to the – to the fucking Bee 'N Barb, of all places._

Mind made up, I give Elisif a small smile. "I don't mind sharing a house." _I already own multiple ones, and none of them feel like home anyway._

Not that I would be able to ever relax fully in a city where I met an undead Necromancer queen. Or any city where general Tullius lives, for that matter.

And I guess my time of hiding my affections for Marcurio is coming to an abrupt close, also. There's no way I can hide it from him when we live together – it's hard enough on the road, where privacy is a myth. He might even bring girls home. Or a wife, eventually.

Something in my stomach churns violently at the thought, dreadful and icy, and it takes everything to keep the ugly expression off my face. _Damn._ If I can't even stand the thought of it, seeing it with my own two eyes will probably end in Shouting.

Elisif seems pensive as she looks between us before giving her agreement, as well. "Very well. If you want the house, I will have it kept for you, regardless of the question of Thaneship. I take it you can make the arrangements yourselves?"

Marcurio nods before I can get a word in edgewise.

"Certainly. I can travel east and oversee the transport personally. Fjaldi needs to go visit High Hrothgar soon." He glances at me with a reassuring grin. _He's right once again, it seems. I almost forgot about that._

"We can walk together until Whiterun then." I concede hesitantly, returning my attention to the jarl, who picks up a quill.

"And on the question of Thaneship - our duties to Haafingar, what would they entail?"

She smiles, and suddenly, I am but a spectator in a match, watching negotiations and terms like a blow-by-blow account of a gladiator match as Marcurio and Elisif get caught up in specifics, her quill flying across the parchments underneath her fingertips.

The words are too fast to follow, and to my great chagrin they descend into some Cyrodillic dialect after about a minute – my grasp of the common language isn't great enough to keep up.

At some point, they lean back at the same time, smug and satisfied looks on their faces before they turn to me in unison, and Marcurio's eyes are sparkling.

"Well, I would say those were fairly successful negotiations." The mage chirps, and Elisif turns the parchment over to us so I can read what was apparently agreed upon.

" _Contract stipulations_

 _Case: Marcurio Granius_

 _Subject: Thaneship_

 _The above mentioned agrees to the following stipulations of his Thaneship:_

 _They shall keep Haafingar and her people safe from threats within and outside to the best of their ability._

 _They shall answer only to the Jarl of Solitude, standing at equal rank with the Steward…."_

It went on to explain that Marcurio was to help Elisif with negotiations unless these involved me personally, and all in all gave him a lot of freedom to move around as he pleased, as long as he did not dishonour or betray Solitude. It also mentioned that I, of all people, could veto any order given to him by Elisif.

Not a little baffled, I asked why. "This clause… Why give me the power to veto your orders, Jarl Elisif?"

She smiles serenely. "That is quite simple, Dragonborn." I do not miss how she stresses the title. "Whereas I am responsible for the safety and well-being of Haafingar, your duty as Dragonborn require you to place all of Skyrim or even all of Nirn above one hold. Marcurio's primary loyalty lies with you, and I do not challenge that. I trust that, if my orders conflict with what you must do, you will not let them keep you."

I look back down at the contract, tracing the words absently with my fingers as I commit them to memory. "I see. And do I also get a fancy contract, then?"

She wordlessly hand over a second piece of paper, far shorter than the first.

" _Contract stipulations_

 _Case: Fjaldi dû Bthardamz, Dragonborn._

 _Subject: Thaneship_

 _The above mentioned agrees to the following stipulations of his Thaneship:_

 _They shall keep Haafingar and her people safe from threats within and outside to the best of their ability._

 _They shall report important news or developments from across Skyrim to Jarl Elisif the Fair personally at their convenience. If information is deemed unsuitable or too dangerous to know, the above mentioned retains the right to keep this to themselves, with exception of information that directly threatens Haafingar or its citizens._

 _They shall advise Jarl Elisif the Fair and the Solitude Court on any matter they ask of within reason and to the best of their ability._

 _They are not to aid Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm in his rebellion._

 _They are not to answer to General Tullius, delegate of the Imperial Empire._

 _They are to place the safety of Skyrim and Nirn above all the aforementioned points._

That is it. That's all the things she asks of me. She was, as a matter of fact, not tying me down to anything – merely asking me to advise her in matters she deemed important and to report Skyrim's situation directly to her. A far cry from the far longer and more restrictive list Marcurio had to contend with, even if I had been given the power to veto any point on his contract as long as it was for the better of Skyrim.

The contract was also a get-out-of-jail-free card in regards to my participation in the civil war. By signing this I would sing my loyalty in the war over to Elisif, who apparently did not agree with Tullius as much as her relatively inactive position in the war made her seem.

 _Perhaps she means to allow me to stay out of the war legitimately._

I gnaw on my bottom lip in deep thought.

"…Are these contracts made public?"

"They are kept in my personal vault. Only I have access to them. I will, however, inform my Court of your new positions. As such, word of your Thaneship will get out. But hopefully not the details of your contracts as of yet. I leave that up to you."

I nod.

"You are asking only for the advice and information I may give you." I state, though she correctly interprets it as a question.

"Indeed. I know I cannot claim your loyalty as I do with others – nor can I claim Marcurio's loyalty as, well, you got to him first. I ask only what you can give. I imagine the other jarls that gave you the title of Thane merely did so as an added measure of protection for their own holds, without actually giving you a contract?"

Another nod, and I don't even find myself irritated. _I knew there was more to the Thane business than it being an honorary title. I am glad it was this. The jarls merely wish to keep me on 'their' side._

I cannot fault them for it. In fact, I'm glad that for all my titles I am not tied down to any hold.

Carefully, I place the parchment down. Close my eyes. Take a breath. Look at Elisif.

"So… Where do I sign, my Jarl?"

Her smile widens. Next to me, Marcurio laughs.

…

"Is there anything else, my Jarl?" I ask, a hint of teasing in my voice now, because Marcurio and I were quick to figure out that she became quite humorously flustered whenever her name was spoken without the mockery many outside of Haafingar injected into it.

"Please, I insist you call me Elisif." She murmurs demurely, but there's still a large grin on her face. It had faded, for a bit, but it was easy to bring back to her face. We'd just come out of a discussion of everything Marcurio and I could tell her of Skyrim's current political, economic, and social climates.

… _She had… not been pleased._

"And yes, there is… something else you could do for me." She stands and moves to the mantelpiece of the room, where she retrieves a beautifully crafted horn that has seen many things. It was worn, and a bit downtrodden, but it seemed to glow with energy.

Marcurio's eyes are trained on me. They have been for a while now, and I ignore them with much difficulty. Elisif's gaze, however, rests on the horn, troubled.

"I should not burden you with more. Not after all you have already done, and will do for me and my hold, but…"

 _She's the first to be upfront about my Thaneship. I even got to hear of my Housecarl_ before _she was sent after me._

 _Like that disaster with Siddgeir and Rayya._

It's not a bad feeling, to know exactly what I've gotten myself into for once in my life.

Actually, the feeling is very pleasant. I'd missed the certainty of it. _Aye, I will support this woman. This… Queen-to-be._

Subconsciously, I relax, the hard lines of my expression softening into something calm as I watch Elisif turn the object in her hands.

"When my husband, Torygg, died… We made offerings to all the gods. All but one. Talos. As you may know, his worship is banned within the Empire. I will be forever grateful if you could take this War horn, passed down to him from his father, to the Shrine of Talos."

After a few moments of deliberation, I take the horn from her hands. "It would be an honour My Jar… Elisif." She sighs in relief. "Thank you."

Marcurio and I do not linger for a long time after that, soon finding ourselves in the courtyard before the palace, unattended by guards as the clean-up of the city is still in full swing, and they are stationed inside, helping to scrub the blood off the tile and the rugs.

It's almost surreal, the calm that surrounds us. It's like we are in a little alcove away from the world, away from the bustle of Solitude, the hectic dance of the Palace courtiers, the stink of dead draughr. The plants rustle in the fresh breeze, and the walls, rising high, provide shelter from the sun shining in the sky filled with clouds like the fur of young lambs.

It is silent when Marcurio turns to stand face-to-face with me, having caught onto the underlying tension emanating from me.

" _I thought you were married"_ Elisif had said. Oh, how I wish that were _true._

I swallow thickly, and avoid his eyes when they try to meet mine. It hadn't been the first time someone thought we were in a relationship either. J'zargo and Onmund, also, had figured the same. _And who knows who else thought it, but didn't comment on it?_

 _Quickly, a different subject!_

"Granius? Have I heard that name before in some tavern story?" I ask after too long a pause.

A scoff comes from the mage. "Yeah… My many times great uncle. The brother of an ancestor, really. A battlemage. Ran off to Morrowind. Killed by the Nerevarine or something. It's not important."

He's still looking at me like I'm a puzzle he has to figure out.

"Is it truly that abhorrent?" Comes the abrupt question after minutes of not saying a thing, the silence turning stifled and awkward.

I blink at him, confused. "No..? He was related to you but why would I be bothered that he was killed by the Nerevarine or that he died at all, I mean, it was years ago..?"

Marcurio lets out a barking laugh, but the insincerity I can sense from it has my hackles rise. "No, no, not that guy. Not what I meant. Ugh. Forget about it."

I purse my lips and scowl at him. "I don't think so. Something is bothering you. What is it? I don't want to do this whole not-talking-but-still-cooperating dance _again,_ Marcurio."

It's an oddly naked sensation to be out without my cuirass already, the red tunic I borrowed not doing much against the cold – but the intensity Marcurio gazes at me with makes me feel all kinds of exposed more than the teeth-clattering winds ever could.

"The idea." The mage states, as if that explains everything. He runs a hand through his hair in agitation, brows furrowed.

I try to ignore it, because his mussed-up hair is looking really nice there.

"Of us. I mean. The idea of us being… more. You looked disgusted by it at the meeting."

 _I'd love nothing more._ Is what I want to say. Want to scream in his face actually. Because I'm frustrated that he could think _for even one second_ that I don't love him. That I don't want to pull him down towards me by the front of his robes because his face is too far up to reach and kiss, and plant my lips on his.

Instead, I dance around the subject, too cowardly to face it directly:

"I do not resent it. The idea of us. Together. But I resent its implications."

I take a deep breath as if to breathe in courage, though the cold, biting air leaves me bereft of any. I can't even bring myself to look up at him.

"You know what I am. I'm not human. I'm not even a proper Dwemer, not with the soul I carry. And… Marcurio, just by associating with me I have brought you into more danger than any fee is worth!"

Now I turn to him, and his expression is closed, indecipherable, and it has me blurt out even more things that I never meant to say to him, a word vomit that makes me more nauseous the more I speak, but I can't bring myself to stop either. But my voice is quiet and not a little venomous as I explain everything to him:

"Didn't you stop to think for _one second,_ Marcurio?I have so many enemies that I don't even know them all by _name_! If word ever got out that we – that you and I – _Please,_ I can't do that to you.Don't make me paint a target on your back just because I love you."

I grit my teeth together so harshly that it's audible, and I'm so frustrated at how he doesn't understand that I don't want to do this but I would if only he'd ask - _paint that target, a ring on his finger or a bead in his hair, glaring under the sun and showing everyone who to go after_ \- the tears are burning in my eyes in a downright embarrassing display of weakness, especially since we're still outdoors and the illusion of privacy would shatter with an opened door.

Breathless and pissed off at myself, I'm sure I must make a pitiful picture. Angrily, I turn my head away, staring resolutely at the wall to my right, casting deep shadows in the setting sun.

I really didn't want a reply, but I know I am going to get one regardless:

"Do you think I'm _stupid_?"

Marcurio's glare could burn a lesser being as he suddenly lashes out, grabbing my shoulder and shoving me up against the wall, caging me in as his other hand forms a fist and slams into the stone next to my head, his fingers digging through the thin fabric of my tunic.

His lips are pressed into a thin line as the wizard stares me down, searching my face as if seeking a lie before letting out a sharp breath.

"I have given it much thought." He lets out a humourless chuckle. "For Aedra's sake, you're the _Dragonborn._ You're a guy. A time-travelling _Dwemer_ barely out of his teens. You're an elf, and I'm 'just' a human. You have a fate larger than the world on your shoulders. I'd be an absolute idiot if I hadn't thought of all that."

Electricity crackles in the air around us, dangerously close. Startled at the sudden influx of magic I turn wide eyes to his.

"Do you honestly believe me to let you go because of who and what you are? I'm not that _shallow_ , Fjaldi."

I can see in his eyes that he means every word, and it settles in my gut as ice, a stark realisation that I'm not the only one gone too far in this… mutual attraction.

 _I don't want to be the death of him._

His fist loosens, settling on my other shoulder as Marcurio bends closer to me until our faces are level with each other. The tense line of my shoulders uncoils at the reassuring hold, and he sighs softly.

"Fjaldi." He repeats, and my breath shudders at his tone, even though I can't place it.

Stubbornly, I look away to the side, observing an interesting patch of moss on the wall. Surely, it's more interesting than Marcurio's face, right? He hums thoughtfully, slowly moving one hand to my face. "Look. At. Me."

I growl low in my throat at the challenging note in his voice, turning to look at him with blazing eyes. The uncertainty grapples at my throat, however.

"You know I can't let you go if we do this, right?" I ask him, wavering. "My race gives their heart only once. I refuse to if you're not going to be fully committed." I continue in a lower, steadier voice. No matter how stupidly emotional I am, I will not settle for anything less than a 'yes' from Marcurio, regardless of whether or not he already has my - my everything.

His hand – _fingers calloused, skin tanned and covered in small white lines of scars long healed, the pads gentle yet firm on my skin –_ takes hold of my face, cupping it and bringing it up.

His eyes are the exact same brown that I paid attention to, during that first meeting in Riften. Funny, how even though 'we' have changed, he really hasn't.

"If you honestly think I'd bother to follow you for free, drag your sorry ass out of dungeon after dungeon, learn how to heal you, that I'd go out of my way to support you and comfort you and let you sleep next to me every night if I wasn't prepared to give my everything to you, you're even more of an idiot than I thought."

 _What?_

Something in my mind whirrs and clicks before stuttering to a halt. I think it's my connection to reality. Distantly, I'm aware that I'm staring at the mage, jaw dropped and eyes comically wide.

Words start to bubble up in my chest, forcing their way up through my throat and rolling over my tongue along with such an overwhelming sense of _relief_ that my legs nearly collapse underneath me.

"I love you."

Now it's his turn for his eyes to grow wide, even as a growing, _glowing_ grin splits his face in half.

" _I love you too."_ He whispers, barely above a breath, and his arms pull me in towards his chest in a fierce hug, the mage burying his face into my hair with a small, choked sound.

 _He loves me._

 _Wait. Hold on._

"I'm not an idiot, damnit." I bite out, the sheer indigence at his stupid comment only now sinking in. For a couple of tense seconds, Marcurio just. _Stares._

Then the situation sinks in and he bursts out laughing, throwing his head back, and I'm helpless not to follow him, my shoulders shaking and my breaths barely giving me enough air as we laugh and laugh – maybe a tad too loudly - until I turn dizzy, reaching my own arms around his waist to keep myself balanced.

"Don't worry, we can be idiots together." He chimes, airy and light and _happy_ and _gods, what did I do to deserve this man in my life?_

Marcurio holds me a little tighter, and I hesitantly rest my forehead against his chest. It's… nice. Calming. I can even hear his heartbeat.

"You're _my_ idiot now, though." I mutter under my breath, and his chest rumbles as he laughs again, free as a bird.

"So I am." He agrees softly after a basking in the moment for a while, breaking the hug and taking a step back, a weariness in his face that I hadn't ever noticed disappeared like snow underneath the summer sun.

I pause as I realize that, for all I've learned of Skyrim's culture, I don't know anything about how romance works in Cyrodill. Or even how Skyrim romances work. At all. Well, except for the sex thing Lydia and Rayya explained to me which I am still mortified about _and Marcurio must never know._

Rubbing the back of my head a little self-consciously, I blurt out: "So now what?"

 _Do we pretend we're the same as before? Will there be courtship? Being wedded to me isn't something he expects right away, right? I'm not ready yet. Oblivion's gates, I'm not even ready for kissing, I think. I've never done any of this before. The hugging was nice, though._

I glance at him furtively as he tilts his head in thought.

 _Could we hug again? Or, maybe, cuddle? We've shared a bed for a while now… Cuddling in bed sounds nice, too. That doesn't answer the question of what we are supposed to be? Is there even such a thing as 'boyfriends' in Skyrim? Or Cyrodill, for that matter?_

"Now we do whatever we want. As slow or fast as you like. I imagine I'm much more comfortable with these things than you are." The smile on his face turns to a smirk, his eyes gleaming. "Don't worry, I'll teach you anything you want to know. No secrets between lovers, and all that."

His not-so-innocent smirk fades back into a small curl of his lips. "For now, let's take it step by step. Starting with Whiterun."

 _Lovers…_

I can do that. I can do this. At the end of the day, it's just Marcurio. The very man I've seen screeching and running along the river in his underclothes because a Mudcrab made off with his clothes. The same guy that drank himself under the table after spending a good three hours singing along to the raunchiest tavern songs, only to be left without his voice the following two days. The one who ran from a single old hag spotting him in the undergrowth yet took down an entire Falmer clan with a grin.

 _He really is a bit of an idiot._

 _I wonder what that makes me for falling for him._

Oh well.

…

"I should get some armour to tide me over." I muse absently., my mind not really on the practicalities of travelling through the wilds right now.

"I'm sure the smith will give you a good price, Mr. Saviour of Solitude."

"I distinctly remember it was me who took out Potema, aye."

"Excuse you? That was _my_ cheese wheel that hit her in the head, if I may!"

"But without my Marked For Death Shouts that wouldn't have had any effect in the first place. Besides, that wasn't _your_ cheese wheel. It was Sheogorath's."

A mock-thoughtful hum. "So, technically, Sheogorath killed Potema Septim."

I snicker. "He wasn't even _there_ , though."

"That's the point with him! The Mad God killing an undead Necromancer Queen with a cheese wheel without even being there himself is… well, insane!"

"And that's what Sheogorath is all about." I conclude for him, and he chortles heartily.

"He probably wouldn't mind if you took the credit, though."

"Probably?"

"Like, 82% sure. He's unpredictable so he might hate you for it out of sheer ridiculous principle."

"Wouldn't he be against principles, though?"

"Don't break my brain please, those negotiations with Elisif were no joke."

"I'm not joking either."

"So you're saying that Sheogorath would not stick to principles because he has the principle of not sticking to principles? Don't we have a paradox there?"

"Pretty sure it's **Dadaist**."

"What's **Dadaist**?"

"Would you look at that? It's the blacksmith!"

Luckily for me, Beirand has a scale set in stock – the metal version, not the Dragonscale one, for obvious reasons. I don't bother haggling for it, and merely accept it gratefully when he also offers to help me improve the fit for my small stature free of charge. With the two of us, the work is done fast enough to finish before sunset.

The latest tavern gossip, which I keep an ear on out of necessity, only features what the locals are now starting to call 'Potema's Invasion'. I don't stick around too long downstairs, but by the time I enter the bedroom, Marcurio is fast asleep.

I'm too tired to think much on how we're supposed to be awkward around each other for a bit since we're starting a new relationship – with which I have zero experience – and so I crawl in next to him without fuss or delay.

I'd need the energy more than I needed the anxiety, to be honest.

…

After travelling together for a few days, we part in front of Fort Greymoor. "I'll take the horn to the shrine to the north of here." I tell Marcurio, feeling strange to leave him like this.

We hadn't actually done or discussed much about our new relationship status. I was comfortable, and so was he, just to sit a bit closer, lean on the other a little more in the evenings around a campfire, trying to stave off the cold.

It still felt like I was walking on air all day, and we made good time.

The Imperial grins, broadly and happily and a rather besotted smile briefly crosses my own face before I force myself to focus on the tasks ahead.

"Right." I cough unconvincingly. "So you will oversee the transport of the gold in Hjerim towards Solitude. You'll need the house key for that."

It took me a while to distinguish the small metal piece from all the other keys I'd stowed away from places we'd been, but I'd made sure to pick it out yesterday evening before sleep.

I chuck the shiny piece of metal towards the mage in a loose arc. "Don't lose that thing. It's the only copy." I tell him mock-seriously, knowing I can trust him with this. With the key to the most valuable artefacts and the majority of my wealth.

It's a freeing sensation.

"What are you going to do afterwards?" I ask him curiously. The transport can't take more than a week and a half or so to arrange, after all. And even with the cargo, the route to Solitude shouldn't take as much time for him to get through as it will take for me to climb the _highest mountain on the continent_ and also get back down.

He smiles smartly, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of Winterhold and Dawnstar.

"I'll go see Onmund. I might brush up on my spells while I'm at the College. Make sure that you drop by there if you want to find me. It'll be in two or three weeks." He eyes my freshly sharpened axes knowingly. "I'm sure you can keep yourself busy until then." I let out a short bark of laughter.

"Indeed. Well, I guess I'll see you in three weeks, then."

A few seconds pass in stilted silence before the mage raises an eyebrow and grins. "What? No kiss goodbye?" I splutter, before an idea pops into my head.

 _Well, why not?_ I think mischievously, a playful smirk growing on my lips.

"Okay."

I take a few brusque steps towards the Imperial, grab his shoulders, pull him down and give him a quick peck…

…on the cheek, of course. He'll have to take initiative himself if he expects more.

His gobsmacked expression is completely worth it. I laugh as I dance out of his reach when he tries to catch me, waving merrily as I start my way up north to the shrine of Talos.

"See you in three weeks!"

"You'd better be there, you brat!" He calls after me, humour in his voice.

I smile to myself, the tips of my ears seemingly permanently stained red from embarrassment.

… _I'm such a sap. That was ridiculous._

… _I loved it though._

 **A/N: For all of you who do not agree with this relationship: Get a grip. Flames or comments of homophobic nature will not be accepted and summarily deleted.**

 **Also, I've been studying Dadaism at school and it's? Fascinating? Also the first thing that popped up in my head was "wow this is so Sheogorath" and maybe I have too big an obsession with this goddamn game.**

 **Thank you all so much for your patience~! I've taken down the announcement, but here's the chapter of my mini-series that I put there, in case you missed it or you're new:**

Dwemer Constructs in Skyrim, Vol III.

By: Fjaldi **dû Bthardamz, dûn-ek Nchuand-Zel.**

 _Introduction:_

 _This volume has been written as a gift, of sorts, to my good friend and former travelling companion Onmund, now beloved Arch-mage of Winterhold College, and his spouse, without whom this work would not have been written, as I felt the need to join them on a seeming fool's endeavour after being mistaken for a mercenary… Ah, but that is a story for a different time._

 _I have given warnings before, and I pray you shall heed this one as well: Dwemer ruins are not suitable places to explore for aspiring adventurers, as they are wrought with traps and dangers, amongst which the foul Falmer. I have no wish to inspire the inexperienced to chase their deaths._

 _Whereas my previous works discussed the Three Great Cities which first pierced their way through the earth to find the marvel of Fal Zhardum Din, as well as this geological anomaly in itself (see volume I and II), this third volume shall discuss the last two cities and final location that were part of the Aetherium Alliance, which formed quite the active and thriving communities even before and after the fall of the aforementioned alliance. The two cities discussed here are Arkngthamz and Mzulft, and the final location related to the Aetherium Alliance is Bthar-Zel, explained below._

 _Arkngthamz,_ _ **"Arkngthamz":**_

 _Arkngthamz is most lauded for its producing of the finest Tonal Architects the Dwemer race had to offer. It is said that even Kagrenac himself, infamous for his work on the Heart of Lorkhan and attempted creating of godhood, studied in these ancient halls, of which very few has been left intact over the years. The music and subtlety of Tonal Architecture would take me weeks to explain, and yet, never would the explanation from the mouth of one that has not been trained as Tonal Architect do the art form justice. Visiting Arkngthamz, however, may give you an impression of what it involved._

 _Located deep within the Jerall Mountains, it is no surprise that few have set foot there since it was abandoned. However, within the bowels of this construct of pipes, traps, and architectural ingenuity, I found a spirit willing to tell me of her secret foray into my people's lore: that of the Aetherium Forge (see: the Aetherium Wars, written by Katria and later stolen by Taron Dreth)._

 _The city of Arkngthamz was as good a place to start as any, as it was the main command centre of the entire Aetherium Alliance, including all its logistics and research. For example, any new project involving Aetherium had to first be approved by the Research Council situated in the city, for which five tunes had to be played on special instruments lost to time – I have been told they were similar to flutes in appearance, and capable of activating Tonal structures._

 _Manual activation of these structures can be done using bow and arrows, and as such, I bid you to bring both should you ever wish to unlock the doors within the city._

 _Mzulft,_ _ **"Mzulft":**_

 _Mzulft had to have been one of my cousin's favourite cities, had he been given the opportunity to visit, for Mzulft was (and is) the Dwemer capital of traps, tricks, and unorthodox defences. These days, many of the traps are still active, and I would not recommend going through the ruins without caution marking your every step, as fire and death will surely greet those unaware!_

 _Located in the far Eastern part of Skyrim, in the mountains close to the border into Morrowind, Mzulft was in a prime location for defending the Western Dwemer Clans from the Chimer, now evolved into Dunmer, whom my kin had many quarrels with. Of course, if you are familiar at all with Dwemer or Dunmer history, I am speaking of nothing new in this instance._

 _Mzulft, as part of the Aetherium Alliance, was also used as storage centre for Aetherium, which was from there transported to the Eastern Clans in a most lucrative business. Currently, however, no more Aetherium is present at the site, and I suspect the greedy have long since made off with whatever was left upon my people's disappearance._

 _Other than the Aetherium Alliance, Mzulft was also part of the Eastern Alliance, meant to protect the Western Dwemer Clans against the wars with the Chimer and our Eastern Kin in Morrowind. Of this Alliance, Avanchnzel and Rkund are the two most prominent other member cities._

 _A location of special interest in Mzulft is the Oculory projection map in the main chamber, showing a detailed magical map of Tamriel based off the stars. However, certain powerful magical artefacts can disturb and blur the map, and so I would not recommend taking them into the halls with you should you wish to read a map more ancient (and accurate) than most drawn variants._

 _Deep Folk Crossing, "_ _ **Bthar-Zel**_ _"_

 _Bthar-Zel, or Deep Folk Crossing as it is more commonly known, was a lesser member of the Aetherium Alliance. It did not hold any particular position of prestige or importance: similarly to Mzulft, it was used to keep and transport Aetherium to the wizards in the West and to Cyrodill. It was also the only known location to Outsiders, or Non-Dwemer, that could be freely accessed for the sake of purchasing Aetherium. Unfortunately, the entire underground area has become inaccessible due to collapse and the river running underneath the bridge – the only remaining sign it existed at all. This is possible due to most of the buildings located there were built by other races, and as such made primarily out of wood that would not have withstood time._

 _It is my, perhaps rather implausible, hope that one day someone might yet uncover the secrets and treasures that Bthar-Zel has been hiding for millennia. Until then, Deep Folk Crossing shall remain but a charming landmark of times long gone, and people long lost._


	48. Under a Cold Sky

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Dialogue Heavy. Transition chapter.**

 _ **Last time…**_ _His befuddled expression is completely worth it. I laugh as I dance out of his reach when he tries to catch me, waving merrily as I start my way up north. "See you in three weeks!"_

Chapter 48 – Under a Cold Sky

Placing the horn at the shrine - _once I find the damned place_ \- is a far cry from difficult. I have to honestly admit though, that walking straight into a Thalmor ambush came as a bit of a shocker, really.

"Submit to the power of the Dominion, Talos worshipper!"

 _Oh, for Sithis' sake._

I spot the group of Thalmor, two mages and three in battle gear brandishing swords and axes, run towards me as they yell about how horrifically my death will be for bowing before a false human god.

I don't even worship Talos. I couldn't care less about the guy. God. Whatever.

I'm almost dispassionate about it as I slash, hack and Shout my way through the assholes that hunt people down for their faith.

The White River valley is more of a red river valley after roughly twelve minutes.

Once I'm looming over the last surviving member of the group of Thalmor, one axe hefted over my shoulder and the other pointed at his throat, I let out a small sigh.

"I'm pretty sure you'll all end up on some special plane of Oblivion for this, if Auriel doesn't save your hides. Well, wherever you go, make sure to say 'hi' to Elenwen for me when she finally gets there."

The Altmer seems almost amused, emotions flickering too quickly across his resigned expression for me to identify.

"…Who do I say the message is from?" he drawls, raising a slow eyebrow even as his breath rattles from the ribs I shattered with Unrelenting Force.

I give him a good-natured grin. "Fjaldi. Son of Sithis, Son of Meridia. Dragonborn too, I suppose."

My opponent dies not in the most glorious way – but laughing.

Something twinges in my chest. I know that most Altmer aren't necessarily bad _people_. Ondolemar, Aicantar, Calcelmo and the elves at Winterhold College are but a few examples of that, and this guy also didn't seem to be a horrible guy.

I'm not a professional politician, but I know there's more to the ' _Aldmeri Dominion'_ than perfect obedience to their law and perfect belief in their ideals. I'm certain plenty of Altmer and Bosmer don't get much of a choice in their lives.

A small sigh passes my lips as I clean my blades with a rag, rather than wiping it off on the dead agent's corpse. It seems… disrespectful.

I turn to Talos, ignoring the pain in my ankle from where I miss-stepped, with a wry smile.

"Please don't be too harsh on them." I ask the silent statue softly.

In the snow dancing to the ice and blood covered ground, it almost seems like he winks.

…

The gates of Whiterun are a welcome sight. My ankle, the damn thing, has been throbbing something fierce during the long, laborious walk back. I'd noticed a little too late that I'd shoved most of the healing potions into Marcurio's pack before we left Solitude, and I didn't want to waste any of the four measly remaining bottles on a minor sprain.

The guards at the gate are ecstatic to see me again.

"Hail, Thane!"

"T-That's Thane Fjaldi? Surely not?"

The first guard shoves the second one with his shield, as they'd been chatting in front of the gate rather than standing on either side of the wooden construct.

"Ah, don't mind Mitch, my Thane. He's new. Since you aided us in defeating the dragon at the Western Watchtower, the guard has grown. Whiterun has never been safer. I was there at the watchtower, you know."

I blink and give him a gentle smile. "Ah, you were? I'm glad to see you are doing well, then."

He nods enthusiastically, and begins to regale the new, younger guard with the events at the Watchtower even as he merrily waves me into the city.

 _This world is truly more varied than it was in my childhood._

Adrienne is the next to see me, and she pauses her work at the workbench, where she's improving the fit of a steel helmet, in order to greet me.

"Good afternoon, brat! It's been far too long! What's with the leg?"

I chuckle nervously when I see her hawkish eyes zoom in on my limp when I hobble over to talk more easily, and she's fidgeting with concern within seconds.

"Had a run in with some Thalmor."

"Thalmor?!" She exclaims in a hissing breath, eyes flicking around to see if anyone heard my comment warily. "Are you mad? What did you do?"

"Er… I was caught at a shrine of Talos..?"

She deadpans, anger deflating in front of my very eyes. The hammer she had raised threateningly is lowered back to hand loosely between the fingertips at her side.

"Well," the Redguard huffs wryly, "At least Heimskr will be glad to hear _that_." Another critical once-over as she takes in the new lightning-induced tears in my armour.

"That's not the armour you left with." A shake of my head. "It held out admirably, but…" she waves me off impatiently.

"Armour is not meant to last forever, I know that. But you're meant to last a little longer than this week, Fjaldi. Off to the temple of Kynareth with you – let Danica take a look at that ankle."

I glance down at the offending appendage. "It's not that bad…" I hedge, but Adrienne is having none of it.

"To the temple. Now." And when I don't move fast enough for her liking, she takes it upon herself to drag me to the Wind District by my arm, ignoring my spluttered protests at the manhandling and the smothered amusement from the citizens and guards we pass by, including a very befuddled Lydia who is buying goods at the marketplace.

"I'll take two more." I hear my Housecarl mutter to Ysolda with a laugh in her voice.

"Certainly."

And now it's definitely laughs I hear. My ears burn. Luckily, Danica is free to help me, and even though I don't approve of Adrienne's meddling, I can't find fault with her when the pain is all gone after only moments of rubbing healing salve onto it.

"Thanks Adrienne."

She clasps me on the shoulder hard enough to make me stumble, shark-like grin splitting her face.

"Don't let your pride get in the way of your health next time, it'll be thanks enough."

I manage a feeble smile, which falls off my face when I set foot into Breezehome, shutting the door behind me carefully with a low huff.

 _She's right._ I think somewhat uneasily: _I shouldn't let my pride get in my own way. I need to be more cautious keeping myself in check in the future. I'm… pretty sure part of it is the fault of dragon souls, but that is no excuse for careless behaviour._

I'm happy to get some reprieve from the laughs and happy greetings when finally I look around the smallest of my properties: when I spot the immaculate order and cleanliness of everything. Ondolemar is sitting by the fire, cross-legged on the floor with his back leaning against a cupboard and his nose buried in a book. He ignores me as I approach, and I shake my head with a sigh.

Now's no time to get lost in thought: I have a friend to, if not apologize, talk to.

…How to gain his attention without touching the Ex-Thalmor Altmer? Lydia is still at the marketplace, hopefully buying enough for three and playing it off as new rations. I clear my throat imperiously.

"I got ambushed by Thalmor for Talos worship."

"The First Emissary has died because of severe stick-up-the-ass syndrome."

"I've contracted Vampirism and want to ask you to be my regular donor..?"

This goes on for a while, until…

"Ondolemar, I'm dating."

… Cue a shocked pause from the other as the Mer's finger stills on the page, pointed ears flicking the only other sign of surprise. _Geez._

"You're _what?_ " He asks slowly.

 _Finally._

… _Wait, really? THAT's what sets him off?_

Outwardly, I merely chortle, plopping down next to the ex-Thalmor with a large grin. "Is that so weird?" The high elf merely blinks at me for a moment. "So you were still exclaiming nonsense, then?" He assumes mildly, and I shove him in mock-annoyance, the grin widening.

"Not this time." He must see it in my eyes – the dopey, love-sick expression I've been trying to cover up since my arrival.

A keen gaze sweeps over my form, Ondolemar's head tilting slightly sideways.

"It does make one wonder… Who was meritorious enough to hold _your_ interests?" He drawls lazily, his nose turned upwards as if he saw a Skeever instead of my travel-worn self.

I give him a confounded look. "Friend, what does 'meritorious' even _mean_? And I'm not giving you a name. You'll have to work for it." I lean forwards, resting my elbow on my knee and my chin in my hand. "Show me your great skill, oh master of deduction."

I can't help the large smile still on my face as the Altmer ponders for a while.

Lydia enters the room with a bag full of groceries, and I stand to help her clean it away. "Glory upon you, my Thane! I am glad you came. Lyonmelar -" _oh right, that's his name now "-_ has been bored and cleaned up this entire house twice. I used some of the money in the bedroom chest to pay for the expenses of the books he's reading. I am so very sorry, my Thane. _"_

"It's fine. It's on me. I saddled him with you, after all."

"…I am sworn to carry your burdens, my Thane." She replies mechanically after a pregnant pause. She glances around the small house as if she can't quite seem to locate something of interest – like a butterfly after someone points it out. "Did you travel here alone?" I shake my head ruefully.

"Not at all. I split with them at Fort Greymoor. They're taking care of some business up in Solitude while I handle some other… stuff." I give 'Lyonmelar' a sideways glance as I speak, the Altmer sitting a bit straighter. _He must want to get out of here really desperately._

'Lyonmelar' is stuff, in this case.

I give them both my most charming grin. "So, after defeating Potema Wolf-Queen's resurrected form I decided to get my affairs in order in case Alduin comes surprise calling while I'm in the bath or something."

 _Translation I'm sure they both already grasp: I can die at any second because I am prophesized to take down one of the most dangerous creatures in Nirn and realised that he's not the only thing after my life. I'm making some precautions in case of the worst – my untimely death._

"I have a little errand to run while here in Whiterun. I'll be done before we leave tonight – Wouldn't want anyone to catch wind of a strange Altmer showing up right after a certain other Altmer mysteriously vanishes, right?" I gain two understanding nods in return, Lydia eyeing said high elf coolly before sharply turning to put away the food she's bought.

I observe the complete and utter frigidness, like a glacier in the middle of summer, that is my Housecarl Lydia. Then I turn my head in the slightest, most subtle way I can, to the left to see Ondolemar, nose buried in a book. Like a glacier in the middle of summer.

 _Those two would be perfect for each other._

Biting back an exasperated sigh, I leave them be for the bedroom. I have an assassination to prepare for.

 _It's the least of my problems, really_.

…

I return long after dark, not even bloodied but exhausted beyond belief.

I shut the door to my bedroom behind me, locking it securely and telling Ondolemar that I am not to be disturbed under _any circumstance_. The place is furnished, but it still seems empty, like a gaping black hole.

My body relaxes for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

I crawl under the covers, my breathing becoming more haggard as I _throw_ my Brotherhood gear into an instantly forgotten dark corner, and my hands shake violently by the time I get into a simple tunic that's dyed in a color that does not instantly make me want to vomit.

The room is spinning and black edges the corner of my vision. I lie on my back, my mind going over the things that happened and finally, _finally,_ I allow myself to sift through the buried events, to really _look_ at what sort of fucked up things had happened to me.

 _I killed someone for the sake of_ payment _._

Potema, Elisif, Marcurio, Sheogorath, _Dragonborn,_ Thalmor _,_ Rayya, Delphine, end of the world, _Alduin_ , Astrid, Veezara, contracts, Elenwen, Etienne, Malborn, and _death, so much death and danger and fear and gods I can't I -_

The nervous breakdown hits me hard and instantly. I can't breathe, and my entire mind shuts down.

…

I wake up late, still sore and exhausted with a sore throat from the screaming, salty tracks tracing my face from the tears, red scratch marks from my own nails all over my arms. My vision is blurry, but I still manage to recognise the Altmer.

Ondolemar hovers over me with a damp cloth, carefully patting down the slowly dripping wounds. I don't question how he got in here.

"We're not leaving the house today. Sleep."

I merely croak miserably in agreement and close my eyes again. I should be protesting, should want to go and not miss any time.

"'M sorry."

"Don't be. You deserve rest as much as any other. So rest. Lydia is covering for you."

My mind can however only conjure up a single sentence before I fall back asleep:

 _Rest at last._

I sleep for two days straight.

…

The walk up the steep cliffs towards High Hrothgar is as painful, as arduous and as cold as always – though I'm pretty sure it's three times colder this time, even though I can't tell if it's because of the approaching winter months or the cool, stoic indifference of both my companions.

Ondolemar acted like he never set foot in my room, like he never dabbed ointment onto my self-inflicted injured and calmed my mind. It was not surprising, but at the same time more hurtful than I thought to see him go without acknowledging it.

 _You're a good Mer, my friend._

Unsurprisingly with his and Lydia's attitudes though, the journey is even worse than usual. By the time I finally, _finally,_ step into the ancient monastery, the creaking old doors slamming shut solemnly behind Ondolemar, I can't even bring myself to crack a tired grin, my mood too sour to truly appreciate the awe written clear as day all over Lydia's face, in a stark contrast to her earlier stoicism.

Once I find Arngeir on a chair in one of the side passages, the footsteps of Lydia bouncing loudly off the walls despite her obvious attempts at staying quiet, I waste no time trying to find the answers I've been seeking since leaving the Blades' Temple.

"Arngeir… I have come with questions." The aged man smiles warily, tucking the loaf of bread he'd been eating into his robes.

"Dragonborn, I believe there has not been a moment since you came to Skyrim that you have been _without_ them." He chides.

I grin sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck at Ondolemar's amusedly muttered " _If only you knew"._ Clearing my throat, I force all feelings of embarrassment and, really, all my feelings in general to the back of my head.

If Delphine's reactions had been anything to go on, the Greybeards would not like that I'd been in contact with the Blades.

Which would make finding answers impossible.

 _Even so, I can't really see any way around it, and Arngeir will get suspicious if I do not pose my inquiry outright, as I've always done before._

"There is a Shout I must learn. One that was used very few times in history, by your old Nord heroes. I believe it may have been used to defeat Alduin, or at least set him back enough to be defeated. I need to learn what Shout was used so I can replicate the effects and hopefully put an end to that bastard's reign."

The old Greybeard stiffens, the lines in his face going taut with confusion and anger, even as he stands up to tower over me imperiously, causing Ondolemar to take a half-step forwards, flexing his fingers in warning.

Lydia, torn between her Nord heritage and her responsibility for me, wavers briefly but doesn't otherwise react.

"Where did you learn that? Who have you been speaking to? Surely you've not gone to see _them_?"

I grimace, steeling myself for his anger and disappointment. _Strange, I don't really want to disappoint them. These old geezers must have wormed their way onto the small list of people I've come to respect, and look up to, if at least a little._

"If, by 'them', you mean the Blades, I am afraid it was so."

Then, quickly adding: "Delphine took the horn from Ustengrav, and I knew I could not return without knowing where it went. I was… Strongly encouraged to follow along with her demands." I press my lips into a thin line, bowing my head in shame as I'm only now realising that the Greybeards would have at least understood that I didn't go after the horn after finding out it was taken.

 _Once again, my inborn curiosity, and in this case my anger at being manipulated, caused me to dig an even deeper grave for myself, so to speak._

"The Blades! Of course." Arngeir sighs, and the disappointment is palpable. I wince when he continues: "They specialise in meddling in matters they do not understand… Their reckless arrogance truly has no bounds. They've always sought to turn the Dragonborn away from the path of wisdom. I take it they tried with you?"

 _Oh well, I can't stand Delphine. Might as well throw her in front of the carriage._

"They claimed my power was not dangerous, though it is glaringly so. After all, Ulfric Stormcloak abused the Thu'um to kill the previous High King, didn't he? Elisif herself told me what she saw back then." I start off strongly with the first sentence, though I fall into quiet mutterings near the end, mumbling pensively, hesitantly, as Arngeir observes me solemnly, still oh-so-painfully angry with me.

"However, it doesn't detract from the fact that the Blades, or Esbern, at least, have been helping me to figure out how to handle… all this Alduin stuff." I make a sweeping gesture with my hand, as if to stress how I'm unable to handle it.

 _Ugh. Have I learned nothing, after all this time? Showing weakness here in Skyrim is the equivalent of a death sentence._

… _And after everything, after facing dragons and Jarls and Daedra, I still consider the Greybeards wiser than I. They can help me, right?_

My eyes meet Arngeir's. "I am not their puppet."

Heart pounding nervously, I wring my hands together behind my back, staring at the wall ahead as I wait for the verdict as if I were a child again, being chided for not washing my hands before dinner and being handed a punishment.

 _Though if they choose to punish me now, I'm sure it'll be more than just having to do all the dishes by myself._

"…No, I suppose you aren't. My apologies, Dragonborn -" _it's Fjaldi, FJALDI, damnit, how hard is it to call me by name? I still don't much like that title._ "I have been intemperate with you. But heed my warning: The Blades may claim to serve in your best interests, but those claims are nought but falsities. They do not serve the Dragonborn. They never have."

"I understand." I nod, feeling a wave of relief washing over me that makes my knees feel weak. _Marcurio would never let me live this down if he knew this._

"So then… You can teach me?"

The man, to his credit, seems almost bashful about it. "No. I fear I am unable to teach you, for I do not know it. I do know that it is called 'Dragonrend'. But the words of power used have long been lost to us. I admit, it is not a loss we regret. A Shout of that nature does not belong within the Way of the Voice."

 _Great. Next thing you know I will have to time travel AGAIN, but now just to learn a damn Shout. Still…_

"Then, those old Nord heroes who used it, they created it? Were they the only ones to ever know it? Was it not written down?"

"…It can be assumed that they did create it. They were the ones to live under the reign of Alduin's Dragon cult, terrible and cruel beyond what we may imagine. As far as we know, it has not been put to paper or stone."

 _Oh, I have heard horror stories all the way back in Nchuand-Zel, used to dissuade us from becoming overly curious about the world outside the cities._

So caught up I am in the memories of being told such stories over the dinner table and before bed, in a safe and quiet home underneath the stone, I miss the next few sentences.

"…Use this Shout, you will have to take that evil within yourself."

 _I think I will be asking Ondolemar If he heard it later, that sounded quite important._

"If not for using this Shout, how can I possibly defeat a dragon who can _bring other dragons back from death itself?_ I would hate to prove Esbern right, that all is lost to us."

Arngeir gives me a long, considering look. "Only Paarthurnax can answers those questions for you, if he so chooses."

A few minutes later I'm standing in the courtyard, in a strange déjà vu of the last time I was here – to learn a new Shout. Only then it was Whirlwind Sprint. Lydia and Ondolemar stay back cautiously, out of the roaring winds and icy cold, in the relative shelter of the partially covered parts of the monastery – that is, the giant pillar near the fire pit.

"We will grant you the understanding of Clear Skies. This is our final gift to you, Dragonborn. After this, only Paarthurnax, if he wishes, may teach you more. Use this gift well."


	49. Faasnu (Fearless)

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Dialogue heavy. I mean it. Paarthurnax and Fjaldi are BOTH chatty bastards and you know what chatty bastards do? Talk.**

 **A/N: So. I lost my entire save file for "Fjaldi". It's just been… wiped clean. So I had to use the wiki pages for this chapter, since I'm all the way back to level 1.**

 _ **Last time…**_ _"I will grant you the understanding of Clear Skies. This is our final gift to you, Dragonborn. After this, only_ _Paarthurnax_ _, if he wishes, may teach you more. Use this gift well."_

Chapter 49 – Faasnu (Fearless)

The Greybeards don't waste much time getting back to their cosy little home soon after teaching me Clear Skies – effectively telling me to go climb the damn mountain by myself.

 _Perhaps they're too old to make the climb?_

Without hesitation, I round on Ondolemar and Lydia. "Right. You two are coming with me. I've seen to many bodies on the side of mountain roads to go up alone with those gales."

"As you wish, my Thane." Lydia agrees begrudgingly, eyeing the gates leading further up with distaste.

"You must be joking. I am not climbing even further up. Altmer are not designed for this… barbarous climate." Ondolemar is, naturally, far more vocal about his disdain for mountain climbing.

"You're in charge of frying any enemies we may encounter on our way up. I don't trust just anyone to watch my back, you know?"

For some reason, that's enough for the ex-Thalmor to purse his lips and walk along with Lydia and I. I'm mainly glad that I don't have to walk alone.

After all, it's much more pleasant to suffer together than to suffer from the cold all by my lonesome – even if Lydia is hardly affected by the gales of freezing wind at all.

As we climb, I take to observing my surroundings – I've never been this high up, and admittedly the thin air is foreign and interesting. _Would it become thinner the higher one went, I wonder?_

The rickety, old, creaking wooden bridges over cliffs steeper than… Well, nothing, really, _terrify_ me. The same goes for the sharp, rocky edges below promising a brutal, swift death should any of us fall, though luckily the 'path', if the Ice Wraith-infested rocks and flat icy surfaces can be called such, are broad enough to walk along single file.

"…I have developed a sudden dislike for bridges matching my dislike for staircases in intensity."

"Fjaldi, the things you dislike could fill up several books. Now shout away that wall of ice winds."

"Maybe I should write a book."

"What would you write books about, my Thane? Your adventures? Your heritage?"

"Maybe I can combine them somehow?" I muse. It might even turn out profitable.

"Perchance you may describe the Dwemer ruins dotting Skyrim. You may prove surprising insights, being knowledgeable on Dwemer as few others are."

"Like… Dwemer constructs in Skyrim? I could even throw in some bibliographical information – Hah, Calcelmo would flip his shit if he knew I was even contemplating this."

"You can send him copies to proofread, then." Ondolemar mutters.

"Winterhold College may also wish to buy and distribute anything you write, my Thane. As would the Bard's College." Lydia adds smoothly.

"We'll – LYDIA _GET DOWN FROM THAT LEDGE_ YOU'RE GOING TO FALL OFF!" I yell at her when I spot just where she's standing: on the very top of an ice-covered rocky outcropping, as if she were a gods-damned _mountain goat._

 _She's going to slip off a cliff one of these days, mark my words._

As we need my new Shout multiple times, I walk at the front, with Lydia at my back to straighten me up whenever the slippery surfaces prove too much for my travel-worn boots, her Nord heritage shining through quite prominently as she proves resilient and moves without much trouble.

Ondolemar takes up the rear, carefully measuring every step he takes and ruthlessly frying any Ice Wraith that dares come near to us. He seems to have a little problem with the thin air, as I can hear his heavy breaths even over the wind. To be honest, I'm quite lightheaded myself.

I feel a stab of jealousy at seeing Lydia's unfazed expression.

 _Gods-damned mountain goat indeed. But I suppose it'd be too rude to speculate if her ancestors inherited any traits from those animals._

… _What am I thinking? She'd push me off the mountain without regrets._

The top of the Throat of the World is cold, but somehow I can breathe more easily here. Ondolemar sinks against a rock, panting slightly and glaring ferociously at me while Lydia stands to the side stoically, observing quietly as I sheathe my axes and step forwards onto the open area.

Scanning the ground, I see nothing but whiteness – snow and ice-slicked rock that's too dangerous to tread on. There is a Word Wall, old and worn and cracked in some places along the top edge, but unlike all the other ones I've encountered so far - _and I've encountered quite a lot of them by now_ \- it doesn't call out to me. Not in the slightest.

There is no hut, no cabin, and no house. No stone or wooden construction or even a cave where any humanoid creature could reside, no matter what race they were from. The suspicion that has been niggling at the back of my mind since Arngeir first mentioned the name of the Greybeard's leader starts nagging even harder.

Paarthurnax is not a human name. Nor an elvish one. It's a dragon name. In Dovahzul. _And as there are no signs of mortal activity here…_

A cry echoes around me, and for the first time since my arrival, my eyes turn to the stark blue sky – a single, familiar silhouette drawn against it with unfurled wings.

 _Ah._ I feel a smidge of smug satisfaction at my suspicions being proven right.

Unless, of course, it's horribly wrong and I'm going to get myself killed in an embarrassing manner within the next few minutes.

Somehow, it doesn't feel like I'll die just yet.

 _That must be them. The leader of the Greybeards._ _Paarthurnax_ _._

Lydia is up in arms the second the dragon's cry reaches her ears and I tense, preparing to stop her, but before she can do something stupid, like attack the old dovah, Ondolemar shoots a paralysis spell in her direction, eyeing me inquisitively.

"You do not fear this dragon." The Altmer states, but the question in the words is unmistakable.

"I believe this may be who we are looking for." I answer slowly, still not a hundred percent certain but willing to take my chances as the dragon lands and does not make any moves to attack us.

Stepping forwards, I move away from my companions, sure that Ondolemar will keep Lydia in line if she attempts to attack Paarthurnax again. It's also a gesture of goodwill, so to speak – as a show of trust, that I do not need armed backup to speak to the most likely ancient dovah… Though I certainly needed the aid of my companions in climbing up here, as the path is treacherous. Now that it is no longer strange, however, next time I might attempt it on my own.

Only when I approach do I notice that he is indeed far different from other dragons I've seen. His scales are dull and grey, covered in brown specks as if to show his true age. The dragon's wings are the largest I have ever encountered, and they are ruffled, torn and worn near the edges, like a tattered travelling cloak, affected by time.

Dried blood stains the snout, but I pay it no heed – I have often been in a similarly dirty state.

The dragon, _Paarthurnax, I'm sure he is Paarthurnax,_ sniffs me before backing up a bit, talk sweeping behind him like a curious cat, snow being scattered under the force of it, spraying the area in the never-melting white dust. His breath reeks of death when he opens his maw, and is scorching hot on my cold skin.

"Drem Yol Lok. Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax." My frozen fingers dart to my axe nervously, but I stand my ground readily, steeling my nerves as much as I can facing a… a friendly dragon.

 _Or, at the very least, a non-hostile one, which aside from that first time I tested Marcurio's strength has never happened before._

"Who are you, Tumgol? What brings you to my strunmah…My Mountain, when your Kiin who dwelled beneath the stone are no more in Mundus?"

A chill runs through my body, down to my very bones, and it has nothing to do with the cold for once. Parts of me are warring with one another – on one side, I may have just found the perfect Dovahzul teacher, someone I can trust to an extent, and aye, a dragon leading the peaceful Greybeards is super awesome.

On the other hand, though, this is a _dragon._ Known for their natural cruelty and will to dominate, can I trust him? And added to that… _He knows. He knows what I am from a glance._

I clear my throat sharply. "I dare say, Paarthurnax, that my identity is no secret to you."

The dragon almost seems to snort, the tip of his snout almost touching my chest, his oddly coloured eyes boring into mine though they are covered by a film, a film that indicates he probably does not see much of me at all anymore.

"Geh. Vahzah. You speak true, Dovahkiin. Forgive me. It has been centuries since I held tinvaak with a stranger, and longer yet since I laid eyes on one of the Tumgol. I gave in to the temptation to prolong our speech. Your Joorre Kiin was always so interesting, with their strange ideas."

My lips twitch into a smile at the thought of my people, the ache of their absence having been soothed lately by the presence of people like Ondolemar and Marcurio who kept me on my feet.

"Why choose to live in isolation here when you love conversation? Do the Greybeards not visit?"

Paarthurnax grumbles, tilting his giant head in the general direction of High Hrothgar, digging one of his claws into the ground forcibly. "They see me as master. Wuth. Onik. Old and wise. It is true I am old." The feeble humility has me raise an eyebrow in surprise – as far as I know, dragons are prideful creatures. _Wonder what happened to him._

"It is no temptation to hold tinvaak with those who revere every word heedlessly. Dreh Ni Nahkip. It is better not to feed certain hungers. It is of no concern now. _"_ His head turns back to me, and aye, his eyes are definitely not working properly anymore. "Tell me. Why do you come here, Volaan? Why do you intrude on my meditation?"

I ignore my companions fully now, whereas I'd first kept an eye out for them, to fully focus on the dovah. I almost feel bad for my reasons now. But when I speak, I keep my voice strong, as I feel it is something Paarthurnax may appreciate.

"I am here because I wish to learn. To learn of Dovahzul… And to learn the Dragonrend Shout, if at all possible. I am here because I need a teacher. If you have… held tinvaak with my kin before, you should know how we value such."

Perhaps it is not wise to mention the last, but the words have passed my lips, and I cannot take them back. It is only the truth of the matter. I've been floundering for over a year, trying to keep my head above water in matter I barely, if at all, manage to grasp adequately.

I learn the words I find on Word Walls at random, not knowing how to read a single other part of the scriptures I see. I hope I find a Wall whenever I enter a dungeon, hope that I will learn it in time to defeat Alduin, about whom I only know the worst – No matter how well I have assimilated to the local culture, my dealings with destiny have not born much fruit.

My Dwemer mind, and perhaps even my heart, longs for a mentor I can rely on, as has been ingrained into the culture of my people for as far back as our lineage goes _. Like my uncle was… Before._

 _It has been nearly a year. Surely I wouldn't be betraying him by choosing a new Mentor? Not when my need for one is this high, when I am pressed for time as it is._

The Greybeards themselves have made it clear that they won't teach me any longer, not until I cut ties with the Blades, whom I might still have use for later.

 _And besides, Arngeir told me straight out that they had not much to teach me in the first place._

 _Aye. I would learn from this dovah, if he allows me._

The dragon pauses for a long moment, the silence in between us stretching to the point that I want to start fidgeting uncomfortably under his heavy presence. Then Paarthurnax turns and starts walking towards the Word Wall, his talons digging deeply into the ice, and his tail sweeping, almost hitting me before I manage to stumble aside.

"Drem. Patience." He speaks, and I nearly wilt in relief that it wasn't a dismissal, a refusal to teach me at all. "There are formalities which must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the Dov." I draw in a sharp breath at the acknowledgement that I am a dragon to him - even if only in soul, before slowly following him, watching, waiting, for my 'elder' to make the first move.

"By long tradition, the elder speaks first." _Aye, I'd figured that much._

"Hear my Thu'um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are Dovahkiin!"

 _Oh fuck, now what?_

Then Paarthurnax starts breathing fire at the Wall. I startle so violently I almost jump six feet into the air at the power that resonates off of him, the heat blistering after being entrenched in the freezing cold for so long even at a fair distance.

It's… _terrifying._

"YOL…TOOR…SHUL!" _So, that is the full Fire Breath Shout, then._ I only knew the first Word – but it seems that Paarthurnax has somehow… branded the second Word into the stone of the Wall. "I have spoken. The Rotmulaag awaits."

I let out an uneasy snicker at having to turn my back to the dragon in order to absorb the Word, but I step up to it without further hesitation regardless of my unease, as I think Paarthurnax might grow impatient with me if I stay still too long.

Once the odd feeling of _knowing_ as well as the heady dizziness have passed, I turn around to face the elder dragon once more, only to see him much closer than earlier, nearly giving the feeling of caging me in, trapping me between himself and the wall. I swallow thickly, trying to supress the sudden rush of terror to manageable levels, when Paarthurnax speaks again:

"A gift, Dovahkiin. Toor. Understand Fire as the Dov do."

It takes all I have to remain standing after he grants me his knowledge of Fire Breath, since getting knowledge straight from a dragon is different from having, say, Arngeir give me _his_.

It's much like the difference between drinking a tankard of mead and consuming three whole bottles of pure alcohol, if I have to make a Marcurio-approved comparison.

Gasping for breath as discreetly as possible, I hear Paarthurnax urge me on, and I am so, so happy that I won't have to walk back down this mountain without support later. I don't think my legs will support me then with all this adrenaline coursing through me right now.

"Do not fear. _Faasnu_. Let me feel the power of your Thu'um. Greet me not as  Tumgol, but as Dovah!"

 _He'd better not take offense to me doing this and attack after all, that'd be a drag._

I inhale, briefly closing my eyes, _feeling_ the Words as they claw their way up my parched throat, they're dry, hot, they burn and taste like ash as they rush over my tongue and past my lips and they give me a sense of _power_ beyond mortal bounds when their effect becomes visible, slamming into the older dragon, as he'd asked.

"YOL…TOOR!"

I swallow several times afterwards, resisting the urge to bring my hand to my mouth in an effort to prevent myself from coughing my lungs out as I pay immediately for using the Thu'um in my ill-suited mortal body after being ran ragged by travel for so long.

 _Maybe a break will be a good idea. I've been feeling a bit under the weather lately._

Paarthurnax doesn't seem to notice, his fangs bared as if grinning when he turns to me, the black stain on his scales ignored in favour of more conversation.

"Ah, excellent. Sossedov los mul. The Dragonblood runs strong in you. It had been long since I had the pleasure to speak with Kiin."

He takes to the sky, settling himself comfortably on the Word Wall, where he stares down at me imperiously and not a little bit eager.

 _I should definitely come visit more often. Paarthurnax… He seems like a genuinely pleasant Dovah. The first I've encountered._

"And so, you have found your way here, to me. No easy task for a Joor. Or their companions. But... Prodah. I have expected you. You would not travel all this way for tinvaak with an old Dovah. No. You seek Zun, your weapon against Alduin."

 _I would ask how he knew, but I feel he knows of the prophecy, and thus asking him would be redundant. Aye, I came for Dragonrend. But I did not know an 'old Dovah' awaited me here. To be fair, that is a fact far more interesting than a Shout, if I had any say as to what I wanted to prioritize or do._

 _Alas, I have a task to fulfil, and therefore talking and learning from him will have to happen another time._

"Aye. Dragonrend was why I came originally. I think I have found something better, though you have yet to answer the question I posed you."

Paarthurnax huffs, tilting his head. By this time, Ondolemar and Lydia have taken shelter near the rocks, watching me interact with a dragon almost casually. I don't turn away from my conversational partner, however. That would be plain rude.

"Zu'u ni Koraav, Dovahkiin. I do not see. I know you seek guidance, but I do not know all. Mindok. I know that Alduin and Dovahkiin return together: Alduin komeyt tiid. But I do not know the Thu'um you seek. Krosis. It cannot be known to me." He explains, almost gently.

"However, I would be glad to provide Aak, guidance, if you wish to indulge me in tinvaak upon our next meeting."

I nod solemnly, even though I'm already excited just thinking about all the things I could learn from a millennia-old dragon. "You know much, of this I am certain. How is it Dragonrend is not known to you?"

Paarthurnax seems almost abashed. "Your kind – Joorre – mortals – created it as a weapon against the Dov. Our hadrimme, our minds cannot… comprehend its concepts."

 _I suppose it would be useless if the dragons learned what was being used against them. Or perhaps the concept of being, whatever effect the Shout has, doesn't compute with them because it is alien to them? Something like… Being immortal would be to a human?_

"Then how may I learn?"

The elder dragon shifts on top of the wall, turning towards where Lydia and Ondolemar are sitting close to one another before moving back to me. The two are doing quite a botched-up of pretending not to be listening in.

"Drem. All in good time. First, I have a question, Dovahkiin. You say you wish to learn, but I sense you are not yourself convinced you must. Why is it then, you want this Thu'um?"

I find myself having to take a few steps back, pursing my lips as I have to seriously consider his inquiry.

 _Why do I want to learn Dragonrend?_

 _The first, most obvious answer would be that I was told it was the only way to stop Alduin, or make his defeat at all a possible thing. If I am to defeat him, it is therefore of key importance to know. But… But why must I defeat him?_

 _Why do I fight? I tried asking that question to myself back in Sky Haven Temple, but… No answer came._

 _If I didn't need to defeat Alduin, I wouldn't want to have anything to do with this Shout._

 _I have to defeat Alduin because I am Dovahkiin, and it is written in prophecy that I am to defeat him. But prophecy is just that – it does not set the future in stone, or there would be no future, only causally determined actions, making the freedom of Men and Mer an illusion. So then, not the prophecy in itself is what drives me to learn._

… _According to the prophecy, if nothing is done Alduin will destroy Nirn and all those who live in it. Amongst those are my friends and others I have grown fond of. Not to mention the thousands of people I have never met, or the children that do not deserve to live in a destroyed world, or fall prey to a monster like Alduin._

 _And yet, it's not just for them. I have grown… Selfish. I have been given a chance at a life, one in which my people are gone, but then, is it not a blessing that I am still here at all? I would have disappeared alongside them, and yet by some miracle…_

 _I want to make use of this opportunity fate has given me, even if it comes with destiny and responsibility and problems and pains. Spend time with friends; Ondolemar, Onmund, Adrienne… Marcurio._

… _I want to live my life as I please, free. And I can only do that by shedding the shackles that bind my path to Alduin's._

"And so your upbringing as Tumgol shows in your reflection." Paarthurnax grins at me, and mere moments ago the sight would have been unsettling. Instead, I grin back broadly.

"I want to live free. I want to live free of the shackles that bind my destiny to Alduin. I want to look at the world and not fear its end." I gesture around me, at the edges of the platform and beyond, to the picturesque, sprawling lands of Skyrim, with all its mountains and creeks and rivers and forests.

"Hmm… True Freedom. Staadnau. Perhaps that which all Dov once searched to attain. Pruzah. A good reason. There are many, including myself, who would agree. Other claim that all must end, to start the cycle anew, Lein Vokiin."

I start shaking my head halfway through his sentence, and when he falls silent in askance, I meet his whitened eyes.

"Even if it were, I am a selfish thing that wants what he wants, which is a life in this world we live in. Who are we to judge the destiny of Nirn? We are but singular entities, capable of much, yes, but individuals nonetheless. Not one should be able to set the fate of all in stone, not even the end of the world."

Paarthurnax rumbles, a deep sound that reverberate through the air almost like a physical force, and it takes me a while to realise he is laughing, or well, chuckling.

"You have much to learn, Dovahkiin, but let it be known you understand that which you know. As you are, you may already grasp a true battle between Dovah. Tinvaak Los Grah. There is no distinction between debate and combat to a Dov, and to this battle I concede. Who may say, indeed! Dez Motmahus, even to us Dov, destiny is elusive."

He shakes himself visibly, straightening out and unfurling his wings. "Remember, Goraan Dovah, Alduin has good reason to believe he will prevail. Rok mul. He is no fool. Ni mey, rinik guy nol. Far from it. Mind it, when you meet."

 _So not only is Alduin more powerful than I am and he can bring dragons back from the grave and eat mortal souls, but he's also wickedly intelligent. Wonderful._

Paarthurnax sighs, almost forlornly, before coming closer to me again, balancing precariously on the edge of the Wall. "But we have indulged in Tinvaak long enough. Krosis. We may continue another day. Now I will answer your question. Do you know why I live here, at the peak of the Monahven?"

I blink in surprise at the seemingly unrelated question. "I… Have never given it much thought." _I wonder if this is some sort of special location to dragons. Or maybe he just likes mountains. Maybe it's easier to stand on the lookout for Alduin here._

The answer, when it comes, is not exactly what I had been anticipating.

"This is the most sacred mountain in Skyrim. Zok revak strunmah. Here the ancient Tongues, the first mortal masters of the voice, fought Alduin and defeated him."

I look around me with new eyes, and as I stare, I spot Lydia doing much the same. _Ah, I am glad they can handle the cold. It would be bad if one of them froze to death because I was having a conversation._

 _Still… On this very spot, Alduin was… It's almost impossible to believe, really. But I still feel the need to clarify._

"And to succeed, they used the Dragonrend Shout."

The dragon gives me a long, hard stare, unsettling in its intensity. He stays quiet for a long time before crawling down from his perch, standing right in front of me once more. "Yes and no. Viik nuz ni kroon."

"You are Tumgol. You already know that which you need, but you do not know that you do. The Shout merely crippled Alduin, the Nords incapable of defeating him truly. They cast him adrift on the currents of Time. They used the Kel – the Elder Scroll. Meyye. I knew Alduin would not be adrift forever. Tiid Bo Amativ. Time flows ever onward. And thus, I have waited. And I will keep waiting, for this is where he will emerge."

My insides feel as if they have been doused in ice.

 _Kel._

 _Elder Scroll._

And I? I happen to know exactly where to get it.

 _Fal Zhardum Din._

I know exactly where the Elder Scroll is located, as none have set foot there after my people.

However, I have no knowledge of how to get into Fal Zhardum Din. There are three keys, lost to time, and where I can find one I can't tell. There are obviously none in Nchuand-Zel.

 _I don't believe I have ever been this frustrated in my entire lifetime._

 _Fuck._

"I see." I say flatly, mind whirring furiously. "How would the Elder Scroll help me? Is it truly necessary to retrieve it?"

Paarthurnax grumbles again, this time with a warm puff of air in my face. "If you know where to find it, it must be out of reach now for you to ask such question. But very well, I shall indulge you, Goraan. Tiid Krent. Time has shattered here due to the actions of the Ancient Nords. If you brought the Kel here… to the Tiid-Ahraan, the Time-Wound… You may cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. Learn Dragonrend from its very creators… Wuth fadonne… My friends. You and your companions… remind me of them. Gormlaith, fierce yet hasty. Felldir, experienced yet uncertain of himself. Hakon, of sharp axe and wit, yet fearing to lead his fellows."

At loss for words, I merely mutter another 'I see'. I'm troubled, where do I even start? Who do I ask? Where might I turn? I need a key, but the keys won't ever still be in the Dwemer cities they originated from.

 _Also, we remind him of his old friends?_

 _Why would he – ah, Lydia was a little impulsive when her first instincts were to attack Paarthurnax. And Ondolemar has surely seen many things – though I don't know what he would have to be uncertain about, he is a good Mer and friend._

 _And I… Aye. Maybe I'm scared. Just a little bit. Who would I have to lead anyway?_

"Trust your instincts, Goraan." Paarthurnax offers almost gently, "Your blood will guide your path." He pauses, looking up at the darkening sky as if searching for something.

"Vulthuryol. Dark Fire King. Seek him. He will aid you, as I have. Perhaps more. Krosis, I cannot say. He resides in the Deep. Found by Tumgol, your joorre Kiin."

Vulthuryol…

Fal Zhardum Din…

A place to find as much information as I can find. A place where knowledge is gathered so that I might find more information on how to gain entry. My thoughts come to a stop, a feeling as if a storm has been lifted from the sky in my mind, leaving only stark, empty but oh-so-clear blue skies.

"Winterhold College." I state with conviction, breathing almost as if in disbelief, turning my large eyes to Paarthurnax. The Dovah grins once again, craning his neck north before chuckling as I remain frozen in place.

He nudges me gently with his snout, ushering me towards my companions like a mother cat ushers her kittens towards unfamiliar things.

"Why do you linger, Ysmir? You know your path, all you must do is follow it."

A small blossom of hopes rises in my chest.

I grin.

 **A/N: Who caught the Pocahontas reference? I'd love to hear from you all! Also, HOLY SHIT, this story has been updating for almost ONE YEAR! I think I will do a special upload on the anniversary, maybe. Any requests?**


	50. Finding Treasure

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Necromancers.**

 **A/N: Chapter 50! Holy wow, this story has become at least 5 times as long as I'd been expecting.**

 _ **Last time…**_ _"Why do you linger, Ysmir? You know your path, all you need to do is follow it." A small blossom of hopes rises in my chest. I grin._

Chapter 50 – Finding Treasure

"…Do you make a habit of dragging people that you trust with you to the coldest regions of this already frozen land without any signs of remorse, or are we the exceptions?" As he asks it, Ondolemar looks me dead in the eye with a long-suffering glare, drawing his robes closer around himself against the wind.

In his defence, we _are_ currently hiking along the frozen wastelands of Winterhold, near the shore of the Sea of Ghosts where a stray snowy sabercat or bears are the least of our troubles - what with the treacherous, slippery ice and snow continuously giving way beneath out feet. We risk slipping off the nearest cliff with every step we take.

I, myself, am wading through the thick white blanket of cold bullshit with even more trouble than Ondolemar has, sinking into the snow up to my knees whereas the tall-ass High elf barely has the damn stuff reach his ankles.

…And all of this travelling only _after_ I first dragged them both to Riften to check if Erandur had left yet and consequently running all around the province to solve people's love issues for the priestess of Mara once I found out the former Vaermina devotee had since returned to Dawnstar.

 _I'm rather certain I'm one of Calcelmo's favourite people in Nirn. Aside from Faleen, obviously._

In an oh-so-eloquent reply, I shrug at my companion's question and down another swig of warming mead as we come down to a small outcropping of rocks, wiping my mouth before really even attempting to formulate an answer – the cold is making me a little sluggish today.

"Well, O- Lyonmelar, I guess I wouldn't call it a habit as much as a… necessary evil. At least, I've never heard Marcurio offer a breath of complaint about the cold. Can hardly believe you'd stoop below _human_ standards, princess."

 _As long as he knew the mead would be on my tab at whichever inn we'd stop for the night AND he hadn't overused the trope in the few days prior to reaching civilisation, Marcurio wouldn't complain. That is, Ondolemar is doing better than him, but the Altmer doesn't need to know that._

But hey, I'll take whatever peace I can get.

The Mer snorts derisively even as Lydia faithfully stomps along on my other side, not breathing a word unless she remarks on the scenery or whatever possible enemy she spots.

"Why are we even out here? I had gathered we had been heading for Winterhold, judging from what the dragon at the Throat of the World has helped you grasp."

Huffing in agitation, I gesture at the empty wastes around me.

"Well, a while back I got this letter from Winterhold's Jarl, asking me to retrieve a helmet at Hob's Fall. It'd be a shame to arrive empty-handed when I'm trying to help Onmund smooth things over between the city and the College. But you see, the thing is I do not actually _know_ where Hob's Fall cave is located. I only had a general direction – this one."

"Is that how you usually handle these things?" The Ex-Thalmor asks dryly, sidestepping another too-smooth path of ice with apparent ease.

I snicker uneasily.

 _Well_ …

"Would you be mad at me if I said 'aye'? Though, I often try and talk to some of the locals to see if any of them can mark the place down on my map, or at least give me more information about whichever cave or dungeon I'm looking for. Mostly I just follow whatever bloodstains I can find in the general area – unfortunately, it is no fool proof plan, and I still get lost."

Lydia gives me a sideways glance. "My Thane? Hob's Fall cave is actually quite nearby. There have been rumours of necromancy in the area. I spoke of it with some of the travellers at Nightgate Inn while on business for the Jarl, just before I was sworn to you… Are you certain it is a good idea to head there, of course, no disrespect meant, my Thane?"

Ondolemar hisses lowly, cursing under his breath in a lilting, vowel-rich language that must be what most elves in Alinor speak. Gloved fists clench and unclench in covert agitation, and I give my Housecarl a sharp smirk.

"Necromancers, you say?" I drawl dangerously, humming at her affirmation, "Dear, that just gives me an _extra_ reason to visit them and raise Oblivion! …Figuratively, of course. I by no means mean to actually summon a Daedra. That didn't come out right, did it? My apologies."

 _I guess I'm lucky Marcurio isn't with us. He'd not let me live it down. Then again, I doubt Ondolemar will let it go anytime soon, either._

"We shall go 'wipe the floor with them', so to speak. With their innards, if I have my way." Ondolemar states, deceptively soft for the sheer ferocity of the sentence and the unholy light in his eyes. "Necromancers are a _blight_ upon magic."

"I concur." I agree softly, before clearing my irritated throat. I'd been feeling a little off since Ivarstead – mostly an irritated throat, probably from overexerting my Thu'um or something along those lines, but also a stiffness in my limbs that wasn't there before.

 _It will likely pass. Must be the cold getting to me._

"Anyway," I start, putting the thoughts from my mind, "Lydia, lead the way. We have work to do."

…

After what feels like hours, we finally discover the crevice hidden between two large walls of ice, only marked by the presence of a few nearby animals along the coastline and, as I'd already suspected from a cave full of those who raise the dead, a thick smell in the air.

Oh, and the bloodstains leading towards it, staining the narrow path with frozen crimson as we approach the entrance carefully. I give Ondolemar a wan smile. "As I said earlier, just follow the bloodstains. There's always trouble at the end."

"How… barbaric. But effective, I must admit."

As we carefully walk up the path, I spot a motionless body next to the entrance. _Murdered and dumped outside as warning? Or a weapon lying in wait?_

The half-eaten by wild beasts, bloodied, mangles corpse of the little Breton woman doesn't rise as I sink to my knees carefully next to her, heedless of the blood pooling around her like a miniature lake.

"What are you doing?"

I grimace rather than giving an answer, going through the demeaning, dishonourable task of searching the body in front of me – checking every pocket and crevice, trying to keep my fingers away from the icy blue and blackened skin.

Shuddering in disgust, I quickly find what I had been looking for – a defining mark, like a piece of jewellery with a name engraved on it, a slip of paper, a unique item.

This time, it's a letter.

I stand up stiffly, ignoring the very much disapproving and wary faces of my companions. Exhaling softly, I feel a stab of pity boor into my heart as I skim through the innocuous words on paper. Keeping it as evidence of her fate, I carefully tuck it away beneath my armour, muttering a soft prayer to the woman, that she may travel safely to wherever her soul will go.

"In Winterhold, I will have to alert Ranmir about his lover's fate," I explain softly as their expressions twist in similar mourning, "to give the man closure, if nothing else. She was dear to him."

Lydia scowls darkly, eyeing the corpse with no little discomfort. "Why should you, Thane? Who is this foolish woman, for that matter, being out here unarmed?" Unbidden, my lips twist into a snarl.

"Lydia," I growl warningly, "Do not disrespect the dead unless they're after your own life. She was only trying to create a better future for herself and her love, whom she left behind."

Ondolemar nods solemnly in understanding. "A pity, that her endeavour met such gruelling end." We enter the cave, alert and silent, but also more subdued than usual – not that either Lydia or Ondolemar are usually very talkative.

The woman is a surprise.

"Please! You have to help me! They're going to kill me!" She cries from a cage in the back of the room, pulling at the bars wildly when she spots us.

Quickly, I assess the situation – _Big wall of ice, side tunnel, and the way we just came. Looks like we'll be able to get to her location once we take the long way around, but by then it might be too late._

I eye the massive ice wall in front of my face with a dark gaze. _There are no footholds to climb, and there's a terrible view of what might actually be up there in terms of necromancers. Climbing would be a terrible idea._

 _Purely pragmatically speaking, it'd be safer to kill her now so she doesn't give away our presence, but none of us have the bow and arrows to achieve such a thing._

I sigh, shaking my head silently in displeasure, gesturing Lydia and Ondolemar to follow me as we take the side tunnel. I set the woman out of my head, focusing on getting through as fast as possible without being careless, instead.

Lydia's eyes lingers on the unfortunate soul trapped in a necromancer's cage. "You can't just leave me here!"

 _Sadly, we can._

I'm no more happy about it than she is.

For the most part, the ice cave is rather tame as far as Necromancer lairs go… At first. It gets a little worse when we come into a round room, with two humanoid bodies, burnt and twisted beyond recognition, put on pikes like some sort of morbid decorative pieces framing the entrance through which we approach.

The scent of death and blood and burning flesh is heavy, and Lydia has to stumble over to a pot to vomit after we've taken care of the threats residing inside. For my part, I'm not so fazed.

Too often have I come across similar scenes: Hag hideouts, Forsworn lairs, Hagraven nests, bandit camps, caves, Nordic ruins… Even on the side of the roads corpses in all states of decay can be found, and I'm used to the smells and sights, as unpleasant as they are.

They don't make me falter anymore. I wish they still did, sometimes – might make me feel a little closer to the Dwemer blacksmith's apprentice that first stepped into the sun of Markarth.

I keep my face blank and my emotions carefully in check as I first loot the corpses for valuable alchemy ingredients and healing potions, before moving on to the chest I'd spotted, taking some other useful items as I walk along. I also find a book I haven't come across before – Aetherium Wars.

 _Hey, now_ that _sounds familiar._

Of course, I cannot read it now, so I stash it in my pack alongside the potions and gold I'd found.

Ondolemar carefully pokes at one of the dead necromancers with his steel-toed boots, grimacing in disgust when the blood end up staining the bottom of his robe. Meanwhile, though, his eyes are almost continuously trained on me, as are Lydia's once she's recovered.

"We-"

I shush the Altmer instantly, waving my hands warningly with a glare in his direction. "We should stay as silent as possible. Don't know what's ahead." I whisper at him, almost like the hissing of a snake.

I stretch carefully, but so far I hadn't sustained any hits. My shoulders and back are burning slightly, though, as if they aren't used to getting any exercise. Wincing, I roll my neck, the low burn having gotten more annoying the further we'd walked since, well, Ivarstead again.

 _Gods, I hope I'm not coming down with something. I do not want to fall ill here._

'Enchanter's Primer' also finds its way into my pack, since the book is quite rare. After I've read it, I'll just give it to Onmund or J'zargo. They'll know what to do with the thing. _Call it a gift._

Not that I had a gift for Marcurio. _Perhaps we can rectify that later. This place is a goldmine of valuables._

I very consciously do not linger on the presence of the necromancers, or what their presence implies for the origins of said valuables. I also refuse to think much of the woman we'd seen and heard in the first chamber – I highly doubt she'll still be alive if we alerted anyone at all.

Sneaking is not Lydia's forte.

 _Speaking of which, she seems alright now. We'll move on._

…

Skulls on pikes? Check.

Blood everywhere? Check.

Ominous taste of ozone and mould in the air? Check.

Evil chanting filling the room for some profane ritual? Check.

 _This is a big pile of shit. Extreme danger, most likely, and also, definitely, without a shadow of a doubt the lair of the biggest bad bitch around these parts – or so they'd like to think at least._

"Hi, I seem to have lost my appetite in this dump. I don't suppose you've seen it?" I ask cheerily, drawing the attention of the entire group as I draw my axes. And from there on, it's game on.

The fight takes longer than any of us had hoped, as the _fucking necromancers, curse their ice attacks, curse their families, curse their cows,_ keep RESSURECTING EVERYONE OVER AND OVER AGAIN.

I dodge an ice spike headed straight for my eye with a curse, diving to the side and almost skidding straight off the edge of the higher platform, where Lydia is battling right below me and Ondolemar is keeping the Master Necromancer busy further ahead, his magic flying wildly around him in a high-level Flame cloak to melt the ice before it reaches him.

The woman who'd called for help, as I'd feared, was long dead by the time we arrived, and turned against us as undead thrall.

 _Wish I had Marcurio here. He would have blown everyone up already._

But he is sitting on his ass at the college, and so I grit my teeth and keep fighting.

Then Lydia lets out a sharp cry, stumbling down as her opponent towers over her, menacing smirk cast in an unnatural light by the charge of his spell and –

I don't even stop to think, really.

I lift my right axe high, but instead of trying to slash away at the man in black robes in front of my face, I throw it at him, the blade slamming into his stomach, leaving a deep cut but definitely not dealing enough damage to put him down properly.

He stumbles, and cancels his attack, leaving a minuscule opening I grab with both hands.

Without further hesitation, I leap down with a war cry on my lips, because _that's MY Housecarl,_ and I shove Lydia aside, forcing her down to the ground below before a searing, paralysing _agony_ starts to spread from my left shoulder to the rest of my body.

It's cold, cold, cold, because I was just hit point blank by an _ice spike_ , and my blood flows in rivers down the glowing blue, hot and dark and red as it stains my armour and spills from my lips.

I take a choked gasp, and it's wet and I taste metal on my tongue, my life liquid dripping down my chin as I bare my teeth at the necromancer as if I have a dragon's fangs.

 _I'm_ pissed off _enough to rival one of the_ _Dov_ _, at the very least._

My dagger appears, as if by magic and I pounce, stabbing once, twice, twisting the metal deep when I bury it into the enemy's brain, straight through her eye socket, my knees on either side of the now dead woman's chest as my head starts to grow heavy, but my body feels light.

… _Blood loss. Fuck._

A small groan passes my lips, along with more spluttered crimson. Above me, I hear a maniacal laugh. " _You never should have come-_ "

"YOL TOOR!"

The laughing descends into a scream as my first opponent, clutching his side from where my axe had dug into it, is set gloriously on fire, like a human torch, and he runs away from the edge, trying in vain to put out the dragon fire. I smile grimly, though I barely hear the sounds of battle and pain through the haze surrounding my mind and perception, my vision fading quickly.

I fumble for my knapsack, and then Lydia is at my side, pulling my hands away, yelling but I can't hear her, digging into the bag and pulling out a red vial.

"Helmet…" I just manage to choke and I hear Ondolemar say something, probably something not so pleasant concerning my priorities. I couldn't tell even if I tried, _I'm so warm and sleepy…_

 _I'll just close my eyes for a minute or so. Rest a bit… Sleep… Just… a little…_

I'm unconscious before I feel Lydia put the potion to my lips.

Later, when asked by unwitting strangers what made her loyalty towards me as unwavering as it was, above and beyond what was expected of a Housecarl, Lydia would steadfastly answer the same thing, over and over again.

' _He is a fool, a bastard elf, and he knew full well I didn't like him._

 _He still took that hit for me.'_

Not that I'd know she'd say that, because she can be plenty secretive if she wishes to be.

Not that I'd ever forget just _who_ ran throughout the frozen wastes, speedingtowards the College, with me on her back and an Altmer she hated at her side as her sole protection, just to save my life.

At least one good thing came from it.

 **A/N: Next up! Winterhold College, Marcurio, and Septimus Signus! …Along with a small surprise you'll all hopefully enjoy!**

 **Question: Having read all that, what did the title of this chapter refer to, do you think?**


	51. Road to Recovery

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Injuries. My interpretation of TES Philosophy.**

 **A/N: Message at the bottom, plus a little extra I hope you'll all like!**

 **ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY HELL YES!**

 _ **Last time…**_ _Not that I'd know she'd say that, because she can by secretive if she wishes to be. Not that I'd ever forget just who ran throughout the frozen wastes, on the way to the College, with me on her back and an Altmer she hated at her side as her sole protection._

Chapter 51 – Road to Recovery

I wake up regretting all my life's choices.

Well, in cases such as this, 'waking up' as a concept is not what should generally be used. 'Regaining consciousness' is, perhaps, a far more apt description of my current situation.

 _Either way, everything hurts and I feel like I'm dying._

Not daring to open my dully, painfully throbbing eyes just yet, I simply lie there, trying to analyse my state without alerting anyone who might be nearby – and without aggravating what is sure to explode into a pounding headache the second I try to think any harder than I do now.

I am reclined horizontally, arms loosely at my side and not wearing my armour. Though the cold nipping at my nose doesn't bother me as I'm entirely covered in layers upon layers of blankets and fur, stifling against my skin, clammy from a barely abated fever.

Overall, I feel much like I've been filled with lead – with my muscles weak and trembling, my limbs heavier than stone and my dry throat protesting at every intake of frigid Winterhold air.

On a slightly brighter note, the stiffness that has plagued me since leaving Ivarstead is gone, and for that I'm grateful.

My hands and feet, hard to move as they're covered in bandages, tingle lightly, warmly, a sign of the salve that surely contains fire salts that the bandages prevent from staining the blankets.

 _Oh, I must have gotten a bit of frostbite. It's beneath my notice to note a lack of feeling in my toes and fingers these days, but perhaps I should have been more careful._

My entire shoulder is wrapped in a thick layer of linen bandages, also, reeking strongly of potions and healing ointments, the whole area throbbing with a dull ache, spreading out to my chest and upper right arm. The linen goes all the way up to my neck, my mouth tasting of a sour honey infusion and, right, of course, I did overuse my Thu'um, so a sore throat should have been expected.

The taste is a pleasant surprise, though, as it partially covers up the sewage-like results of bad dental care that show after a few days without at least rinsing with mouthwash.

Rolling onto my uninjured side, I let my mind wander away from the topics I should be worrying about.

I hear the muted voices of people rummaging about, talking amongst each other amiably – _at least I know I'm not with the necromancers anymore, they would not have taken care of me. I suppose I'm at the College, then. Thank Meridia for small mercies._

It's warm. I'm comfortable. My mind doesn't work enough just yet to work through everything that has happened in the past days. Blissful blankness, easing in the lack of worry, encompasses me as I doze lightly, for once not in a state of stress or fear.

Despite the dull ache, it's absolute _bliss._

After a while of musing absently, a new sounds breaks through the cottony, half-dozing haze I'm in: prim footsteps on the stone, approaching the room I'm in before a door opens and the sounds suddenly gets a lot louder – I believe there are several people entering, coming up to the bed.

I mumble something incomprehensible that might have been a 'good morning', throwing one arm to cover my eyes as light floods behind closed lids, torches being lit around the room.

"I can see that you have awakened, Dragonborn."

Comes a woman's voice, high-pitched and lilting, breaking the silence with all the grace of shattering glass. "Do you think you can sit up for me so I may check on your bandages?"

Considering it for all of ten seconds, I only curl deeper into the protective, _warm_ cocoon of blankets. I mean, I COULD, theoretically, just sit up in bed, but that would mean facing the frigid cold air outside of my little piece of paradise, and _I don't think so._

Almost as an afterthought, I curl my bandaged fingers around the edge of the furs, to prevent them from being pulled away from me and exposing me to the cold, cold world. A second voice, to my dismay, joins the first: "Fjaldi, do not act like a petulant child, everyone has been worried about you. Let the healer Marence see to your wounds."

It's Ondolemar.

 _No. Fuck you, I'm staying in bed_.

I huff. "Five more minutes."

"You have been in a healing sleep for three consecutive days already." Comes the short, snappy retort. _I don't care._

 _Just want to sleep._

"…Ten more minutes."

And apparently, there's more than two people in the room, though I swear up and down that I could care less.

A soft snickering breaks the disbelieving silence that follows, followed by an oh-so-familiar and very much welcomed voice interrupting the other two as they try to persuade me simultaneously.

"Step aside dears, Dragonborn expert coming through!" My ears twitch in curious apprehension as I recognise Marcurio's signature smugness.

 _What is he up to?_

… _Do I want to know?_

A warm hand lands lightly on my cheek, the thumb drawing small circles on my face just below my eye before the mage tucks away a strand of stray hair behind my ear, brushing the twitchy appendage thoughtlessly as he pets my hair. "Fjaldi, love, you should really let Lady Colette look at you. We're all waiting for you to get back on your feet!"

 _He called me_ what _now?_

Cautiously, I crack one eye open, tilting my head a bit and peering at the smiling mage bend over me with a scowl on my face. "Curio." I mumble, before coughing a little, waving away his concerned hands as I curl up even tighter, my lungs screaming at me not to speak. I speak anyway.

"There are days where, where a person has to consider a… thing. It goes: 'Am I willing to put up with this shit today?' I say ' _No'_. **Fuck off**." A resounding quiet follows my biting commentary, my scratchy voice helping me to get the point I'm trying to make across.

Marcurio merely chuckles again as if I hadn't just cursed at him, going back to petting my hair from where he'd frozen halfway through my sentence. I squeeze my eyes shut again, nestling deeper into my blankets, the continuous playing with my hair lulling me into a sense of contentedness I don't remember feeling, _ever._ The only things that would make this better are a lack of pain and a-

"So you'll not want that boiled crème treat, then?"

"…" _I should have known that he wouldn't play fair._

As if to accentuate his statement, my traitor of a stomach growls loudly at the thought of the red, gooey goodness. Adding insult to injury, the mage proceeds to magic up an actual dessert from within the folds of his robes, neatly packed, holding it teasingly out of reach when I attempt to make a grab for the treat with a growl.

My eyes flash dangerously at the … at my boyfriend, before I roll back onto my back carefully, resigning myself to my fate.

 _It's not for him, really, I just want the food._

"Help me up." I mutter sullenly at him, allowing the mage to support me as I sit up slowly, drawing in a sharp hiss at the stab of pain piercing my shoulder through gritted teeth. Marcurio holds me gently, grinning smugly from ear to ear at the exasperated, disbelieving scowls we're getting from both Healer Colette and Ondolemar.

He hands me the treat, and I unwrap it carefully, stuffing it into my mouth without heeding my manners as the sweet scent assaults my nostrils and I'm brutally reminded of exactly how hungry I am. I'm still not happy about giving in to the mage so easily though, he's going to be insufferable about it for weeks to come.

Colette draws near quickly, handing me both a highly concentrated potion of Regenerate Health and a bottle of Nord mead. "To wash down the medicine," she explains and after polishing off the boiled crème treat I down both bottles, one after the other, with a grimace.

I pass the empty glass back to Ondolemar, who simply sets them aside before charging a healing spell, Colette is already unwrapping my unoccupied hand. Neatly closed scabs and angry red skin soon become visible, the tingling turning into a full-out pins-and-needles feeling as the College mage proceeds to carefully wipe away the excess of the dark purple salve, Ondolemar healing where she goes.

 _Second stage frostbite. It will blister painfully for a few days, but there'll not be any permanent tissue damage._ I conclude calmly.

The process is repeated for my other hand, and my feet – covered in open blisters I hadn't even noticed and broken-off nails, are rewrapped gently under my scrutinizing gaze.

It looks more painful and ugly than it feels.

The same rule doesn't go for my shoulder. When I'm given a piece of leather to bite on, I take a deep breath to brace myself, clamping down on the item with all I have.

"You don't want to see this just yet." Ondolemar advises grimly, and I nod solemnly before burying my face into Marcurio's shoulder, the Imperial having shifted to the other side to better support me without being in Colette's way.

 _It hurts like a motherfucker._

Still, I keep myself strong, only the occasional whimper escaping me, luckily without nobody commenting on them as I don't think I could have kept in a cruel retort in the pain.

…

After I'm all back in bandages, panting slightly from the exertion of not screaming, I decide I might as well get started with what I came here for, since I'm sure as Oblivion not going to fall asleep now.

"Is Lydia alright?" I ask softly, leaning heavily against Marcurio's chest in a strange déjà vu of the disaster at Mzulft, though now at least I've gotten proper treatment for my injuries.

 _Similarly also to Mzulft, said injuries are going to leave permanent scars._

"She is quite well, actually, if angry with you for neglecting your own health in saving her. One of the mercenaries is apparently an acquaintance from Whiterun. They often hold joint training sessions, attempting to educate some of the mages here to better familiarize themselves with weapons outside of their spell repertoire. You'll not join them until you've recovered, of course." Ondolemar informs me warningly, seated on the only chair in the room, Colette having left already to tend to another patient.

The Altmer turns the page of the Restoration book he's reading, clearly wanting me to rest rather than sit up and talk for longer.

Playing with the blankets pooling at my hips absently, I hesitate. "You two carried me here, didn't you? I'm sorry. I underestimated the threat and brought you both in peril." The ex-Thalmor shakes his head with a small smile on his face, even as Marcurio's arms squeeze ever-so-slightly around my waist reassuringly.

"Do not fret about our wellbeing, Fjaldi. As I remember it, both your Housecarl and I followed you out of our own free will." His face falls into a reprimanding scowl as he looks me over.

"Rather, worry for yourself for once – not only did you endure and survive what should have been a lethal hit, you were traversing the deadly, frozen wilds of Skyrim with Rockjoint hampering your every move. You would not be with us any longer had we had any less capable aid in saving your life." His voice is bland, but the leather creaks under the tightness of his grip.

In typical Thalmor fashion, he shows no other outward signs of having been concerned at all.

 _Ah. That explains the stiffness. It had been getting worse, but I never figured I could be ill. I don't get sick very often._

"Right, sorry." I apologise again, looking down at my fiddling hands pensively. Then I swing my leg over the edge of the bed, with the intent of standing up.

 _Ugh. I need to get to the Arcanum. If there's no gods-be-damned Dovahzul dictionary, which I strongly suspect there won't be, I might as well get a head start on writing one as soon as I can move my fingers properly._

 _I also need to find a lead to the Elder Scroll or Fal Zhardum Din. Where's my stuff, anyway? My axes are by the door – ah, there's the knapsack too. I wonder if that helmet was delivered to the Jarl yet._

 _Will Onmund be available to hear me out? I might as well as for sanctuary for Ondolemar while I'm here._

 _I'd need my armour first. Can't go out into the cold without that._

But before I can do much beyond getting my second leg off of the bed, Marcurio drags me back in, holding me in a fond, but unwavering hold as I try to wriggle free.

"You are _not_ leaving this bed." He snaps, drawing his legs up on either side of me, effectively caging me in fully as Ondolemar sends a Calming spell my way.

Forcibly, I feel my muscles relax, slumping in a boneless heap against my mage's chest, though my mind is still running ten miles a minute. "I have things to do, I can't sit around and wait!"

Quickly, I inform Marcurio of what I'd learned in his absence, but rather than the Imperial letting me go, he sighs heavily and leaves me alone in the bed, a firm hand on my chest cautioning me against getting up. He frowns worriedly, and I find I don't like it when he does that.

"You will stay in bed, and I will get you the stuff you need from the Arcanum, if it can be found, alright?"

I grumble darkly when he pulls the covers back over me, but I can't stay mad at the worry and care in his every move towards me.

" _Alright_? Trust me, you'll not want to faint outside the door – Onmund has some news for you."

"What news?" I ask grumpily.

He grins mysteriously. "Oh… You'll figure it out. Soon. For now, can I get you anything?"

"Fine. Bring me paper and ink if there's no Dovahzul translating guide." He relaxes marginally, and I lie back down, the covers now more stifling than pleasant, I almost feel trapped in a sense, not being able to do any of the things I want because of my mortal body's shortcomings.

Once Marcurio shuts the door behind him securely, Ondolemar claps the book shut, setting it aside and crossing his arms at me. One elegant eyebrow rises.

"So. Him?" I stare at him blankly, not finding what he's getting at. The Altmer's lips twitch, curling upwards at the corners ever-so-slightly. "He is your lover? The Imperial Mage you set loose on me with his endless questions, back in Markarth?"

He's trying to change the subject, I can tell. _Ugh, fine, I'll play along._ And somehow, through the pain and the worries, I manage to drift off to a light doze again, silence falling in the room until Marcurio bursts through the doors, arms filled with writing materials and a few books floating after him.

"I didn't find a translating guide, but Urag said the College was willing to pay you for any material you give them, to make up for the lack in the future. At least it will keep you busy. Oh, and there's a guy up north, Septimus Signus, a genius who studied the Elder Scrolls and went mad because of it. I brought a book he wrote, maybe you can make out more sense of it than I could on the first read. Also, I got you some…"

As the mage prattles on, he hands me the book by Septimus Signus. A lead. A lead to defeating Alduin at last. A determined smile settles on my face.

It was about damn time.

…

'Ruminations of the Elder Scrolls' is a fascinating read.

Marcurio nor Ondolemar believe me when I mention it two hours down the line – the book is more of an extended mental rant, really, far shorter than most other pieces of literature I've gotten my hands on.

 _But it goes so much in depth that even Dwemer would be stumped at the first attempt to make sense of it. Which makes it a challenge. Which makes it all the more fun to learn to understand, obviously._

"There is no way of understanding it. That book is nonsense, as to be anticipated from a foolish genius studying the Elder Scrolls without a proper medium negating their highly magical, extremely dangerous and violate side-effects." I snicker at the affronted look on the former Thalmor's face.

"Oh, it is merely hard to get. When you truly read between the lines and try to focus on the bigger picture, at least some things start to become clear."

I flip back to the very first page, pointing at a few sentences absently as my mouth catches up to my mind – I'm talking several miles per minute, but with how my thoughts are whirring and racing it feels like every intake of breath is a waste in my excitement over what's a venerable treasure trove of information.

Funny how even the most advanced scholars today seem to dismiss this work.

 _Perhaps, then, there is a certain understanding my people had, a naturally occurring type that the other races did not develop. After all, we did built a sort of manner to solve the issue of reading the Scroll directly and translated it later._

Or perhaps I am the one reading into this too deeply.

"There's a general theme to this apparent madness, see? Signus, in his brilliance, manages to capture the _all-encompassing nature_ of an Elder Scroll through _encompassing all of nature._ As my people conceived it, at least, the world is built mainly on five pillars: the elements, those being earth, water, fire and air, and lastly, there is the **Aether,** the realm of magic,which are all interconnected. Here, look at the third, example. It clearly relates to earth – see how he talks about being underground…"

As I continue to ramble happily, sharing all that I've gleaned with the only two people in Skyrim I could possibly expect to understand me, Marcurio and Ondolemar's eyes grow sharper, and they eye the text warily.

"Hold that thought. Let me see that paragraph for a second." Marcurio mutters, leaning over me to read along.

"Hmm…" Ondolemar hums, toying with his glove as he stares into the distance, the book in his lap forgotten.

"So, by that logic, the stars would be the fire example? Does it have something to do with those 'towers' mentioned in the Old Texts?" Marcurio muses absently.

"Ah, _"_ Ondolemar nods in agreement. "The towers could, indeed, have something to do with this conception of the elements in relation to the Scrolls. The Red Mountain, or Red Tower, in Morrowind might signify the fire example, then. It is an active volcano, after all."

"Close enough to what I was thinking." I agree, getting really fired up now, because in all my time here, in all what I'd gathered in knowledge and wisdom, I had not even dared dream I'd find a close equal to my mental speed in a _human,_ or another elf not a Dwemer, for that manner!

"Now, consider this… See, the Adamantine tower…"

We spend until late at night discussing the book by Septimus Signus, and even if the man is rumoured to be batty, I absolutely must meet him. I have more and more of a feeling that he will be very helpful in getting me to my goal.

 **A/N: Since this is the week of the ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY of Forged in Dragonfire, I have decided to give you all a little surprise! I've greatly enjoyed sending Fjaldi across Skyrim and describing his adventures, and I would like to thank you all for coming along for the ride with me!**

 **That said, I've dug up a few short fragments and** _ **character descriptions**_ **from the very first chapters of this story, for nostalgia's sake! I wrote them to have a better idea of what I wanted Fjaldi's background to be – and now I've edited them for your reading pleasure! Childhood memories to commemorate a year's worth of story writing!**

Guide:

 **~Short story title~**

 _Fjaldi's thoughts_

"Speech" (Dwemeris!)

 **Four Summers Old**

He's four summers old, and Da and Ma are both home for once.

The standard, Dwemer grey and gold walls are immaculately clean, the blue lamps shining brightly onto Dad's messy stone desk. It's covered to the brim with books, parchment rolls and scrolls, charcoal nubs and inkpots. Quills are scattered randomly across the stone surface, one or two having spilled over the side onto the floor, adding to the faded blotches of ink that already seeped into the carpet long ago.

On the other side of the room is a sitting area, a heavy, intricate metal table with three seats next to a merrily burning fireplace. Ma is standing over a large platter, preparing a celebratory dinner because it's her only child's birthday. Under her breath, she hums a happy little tune from the operetta she visited not too long ago, about a Dwemer lass who fell in love with a noble boy cursed to be a wolf.

A young boy, wearing a blue tunic and happy grin, bursts through the bronze-coloured door, clutching something in his hands reverently.

On his heels is a Dwemer Sphere, joints whirring as it follows the child to keep it safe, as per its protocols. A lose bolt rattles when it turns the corner, but none of the occupants pay it any mind.

"Ma! Da! Look what I found!"

The Dwemer woman over at the fire chuckles and rises, dusting off her brown apron and wiping the flour off her short, sturdy fingers. Dark hair curls wildly in the firelight, held together by beads of steel and bronze mixed like marble. Two thick, well-kept braids frame the sides of her freckled face.

"Oh, Fjaldi! My, you're back early today!" She exclaims, reaching out to pluck her son from the ground when he runs towards her. The boy smiles, equally dark curls bouncing with every step until he's swooped up and set on broad hips.

"Aye!" He calls with a toothy grin, showing off the missing teeth in his upper jaw, two holes right next to each other. "It's shiny!"

His mother ooh's and ah's appreciatively, holding the garnet carefully and turning it in the light. "And just where did you get this from?"

The child fidgets, pulling at the edge of his tunic. "Well, there are new pipes being put near the Animunculi repair station, and this was in the rock so I asked mister Dwerg to get it out for me." She smiles indulgently, patting his head. "Try not to get too close to the workers at the pipes when you play, dear – it can be very dangerous! _Darling!_ Look at what our boy has found!"

The Dwemer bend over the desk looks up owlishly, spectacles sliding over a slightly oversized nose partially covering intelligent gold eyes. His hair is kept tightly to his skull by clasps and the weight of the many intricately carved silver beads arranged in neat rows in both his hair and long beard, falling all the way down to his upper chest from his pointy grey chin. He seems to almost be drowning in his books and scholar's robes, but he smiles indulgently at the child nonetheless when he approaches.

Without hesitation, the boy clambers up, kicking off his shoes carelessly and settling on his dad's lap, curiosity for the contents of the desk overruled by excitement over his find.

"See? See? Is a gemstone!"

The Mer chuckles warmly, steadying his son securely when the boy nearly topples over in his enthusiasm. "What an excellent find, my boy! You do me proud." He laughs, praising the trinket. "Did you really spot this amongst all that stone?"

"Aye!" Fjaldi chirps, clutching it safely to his chest. "Is my treasure now?"

"Aye, it is indeed to be treasured. If you're this good at spotting metals and gems, my son, you may be cut from the same cloth as your old' granddad, Sait'iss protect his soul. He was a talented Forgemaster..." A dramatic pause follows as the Dwemerling waits with baited breath for the stories about his dad's family that usually follow.

"I suppose you might have some use for his heirloom…" The older Mer drawls, waiting for the boy to grow impatient.

"Aw, come on Da! Tell me a story!" The boy nags after a few more minutes pass in silence, tugging at his father's heavy robes.

The bead in his beard tinkle as Kvaldi laughs and dangles a wrapped package above his son's head.

"Ah! I suppose if you want a story, the present can wait…"

Similar golden eyes widen comically in alarm and Fjaldi lets out a shriek when his sides are caught in a tickle attack. "Nooo… I want the present, Da!"

"Say 'pretty please'!"

"Pretty please!" The second the package is in his hands, the boy scrambles from his father's lap and tickle-prone grasp, running to sit by his mother again, who merely cackles at the scene.

"For your fourth birthday, dear." She smiles, ruffling the wild head of hair when the boy pulls out a gold-coloured pendant, shimmering with an enchantment. For a little while, Fjaldi merely admires the glowing trinket with its engraving of an anvil on it.

"What does it do?" He asks curiously, turning large puppy eyes to his father, who stretches behind his desk and walks over to sit at the table as his mom puts the finishing touches on the food, the smell of venison heavy and delicious in the air.

"It holds the strongest fire protection charm your grandfather ever made." The bearded scholar explains. "He told me to pass it on to any children I had if they showed promise of becoming a fine smith or even a Forgemaster, just like him."

Carefully, Fjaldi puts the pendant around his thin neck, grinning with newfound appreciation as it settles on his chest, a bit too big on him.

"It's _brilliant!_ Thank you ma! Thank you da!" He gives them each a hug in turn, and then lets himself be herded to his seat. His mother smiles lovingly down at him. "Now sweetheart, come on and eat! I spend too much time on this to let it grow cold!"

The two male members of the household exchange sly glances and Fjaldi bursts out in giggles before digging in with and obedient "Aye, ma."

One did not simply go against Saarimda of Nchuand-Zel.

…

 **Midnight Dreaming, Morning Dreading**

He wakes up to a rattling sound, and sits up on his furs confusedly. Bolt, his Animunculi babysitter, is still inactive, softly whirring in the corner, so the rattling noise can't have come from him.

Curiously, Fjaldi steps out of bed, furs abandoned in favour for the cold stone beneath his bare feet. It's cold, it's midwinter after all and the pipes do not always channel hot water or steam. He learned about it in school not too long ago, his harpy of a teacher continuously nagging at them all on how grateful they should be that they do not have to stay out in the mountain air like the guards and travellers do, in the 'snow' and 'hail' that fall from grey clouds in the sky.

Fjaldi's never set foot outside of Bthardamz, but he think he might like to see the sky once instead of stone, to feel if the air is really as cold as the teacher claims it to be. Auntie Murid, at least, only ever complained about the sky, and she'd been all the way to _Mzinchaleft_ so she'd have definitely seen it!

The door to his room, an unassuming wooden thing, opens noiselessly as his father steps inside. Bolt doesn't even twitch, as it senses no danger.

The young Dwemer however, notices that something is wrong.

"Da..? Da, what's wrong?" He asks, worriedly taking in his father's appearance: his haircut is fraying, sticking up at the edges, and the beads in his beard that he takes such pride in are all misarranged, haphazardly tucked into the black hair rather than in neat lines as ma braids them every morning. The usual scholar's robes are gone, having been replaced by much more fitting, thick fabric and a white wolf parka.

His eyes are wild and desperate.

Without hesitation, he draws his son into a tight hug, muttering under his breath so softly that Fjaldi has to strain to hear it, even as he clutches his father's clothes.

"Remember, my son. Everything I do, I do for us. I do for you and your mother. I love you. Please, please remember always how I love you."

A wet patch forms on the twelve-year-old's shoulder, and he feels his own throat constrict. _Why does it feel like a goodbye?_

"Da? Dad, where are you going?" The Mer wrenches himself away from his son with difficulty, and gold meets gold, one pair of eyes sad, the other mostly confused and hurt.

The soft, pained whisper of "Dad?" follows the older Dwemer out the door, which shuts silently.

It had to be a nightmare. He was just dreaming. Stupefied, and not knowing what else to do except wake up his ma who probably would be very angry this late at night, Fjaldi crawls back into bed, falling into a restless sleep after staring at the ceiling for a long, long time.

The next cycle, any Dwemer unlucky enough to be roaming the hallways near their family is spooked by a blood-curdling scream of grief as his mother is given the news that his father died in an accident after being called in for an emergency.

Fjaldi doesn't breathe a word. Deep down, he knows it isn't the truth.

Three years later, his mother can't stand the sight of their home anymore. She sets her son to training with an axe and starts making arrangements and selling furniture, sending a messenger to her brother.

Four years later, the duo leaves Bthardamz behind, travelling with a caravan to the nearby city of Nchuand-Zel. And Fjaldi sees the sky above him, stretching endlessly, and he knows it is under the sunlight, not the stone, where he is meant to stay.

…

 **First Meetings**

The travelling had been harrowing, and he hadn't expected the bustling crowd in the city. Carriages and horses add to the sounds of people of all races – Bretons, Nedes, Ayleids, Nords, Dwemer… even a person or two that might belong to the Akaviri people!

The houses are made of sturdy Dwemer stone, through there are plenty of wooden buildings outside the walls and inside the city, of course, there's the marketplaces with their wooden stalls and tables and chairs outside of buildings.

Nchuand-Zel earned its name as a trading hub of all races. Saarimda pays the caravan leader with a sack of gold and profuse thanks before unceremoniously grabbing her son by the wrist and dragging him after her up several flights of stairs.

"Don't stand dawdling, Fjaldi, who knows what people here are up to these days. It's been many years, but I'm certain your bastard of an uncle will be found at the bar within the city proper."

The young Dwemer looks around, baffled. "…This is not the city?"

"Not really. Well, not the Dwemer part of it. This is the Outer City – for outsiders, other races, the likes. Only Dwemer are allowed into the deeper reaches. I'll show you what I remember, of course. But you might prefer to go with your cousin."

"I have a _cousin?_ " He asks incredulously, dodging a wayward child several years his junior who does not have pointed ears and stares over her shoulder in her ratty dress. Quickly, he tunes back into the conversation, though he still feels those empty white eyes on his leather-clad back.

"Aye. My brother Sorthdvr married a lass called Shelta. They had a son, Mellte, but regrettably your aunt died of Blood Rot a few years back. Her body could not take the strain. A shame, a damn shame. She was a good Dwemer."

 _Ah, ma did tell me about her after the first letter. Funny how she forgot to mention I had a cousin. How old is he? What's he like? Does he know what his specialty is going to be?_

"You'll most likely share a room." Before the teen could compute the statement, the duo entered the Keep and were met with the face of another teenager. Blue eyes that looked almost too pale for the dark blue skin are set above firm cheekbones and framed by lose, untamed curls just like Saarimda's, if a few shades lighter, in an unusual red hue.

He grins. "Good day! I couldn't help but note the travelling gear! Have you arrived today, by any chance? Did you see a woman with dark, untameable curls like snakes, broad shouldered enough to lift a bear, with a temper fierce enough to have the storms in the Sea of Ghosts pale in comparison?"

Fjaldi glances at his mother and lets out a guffaw of muffled laughter when her face indeed darkens like a storm at sea – form what he'd heard the sea looked like, at least.

"Did you get that description from _Sorthdvr_ , by any chance?" She hisses, and it does look like her hair is frizzing and standing on end, like a predator poised to strike. The youth who stopped us immediately raises his hands in surrender.

"Aye, he's my Dad. He had some business over at the Sip 'n Smelt, so he told me to keep waiting here in case you arrived. That was… Maybe three hours ago?"

The Dwemer woman curses loudly, not caring for the attention she draws even as she brandishes her walking stick like a weapon and stomps down the halls, probably headed towards the aforementioned bar.

The unknown Dwemer turns sharp blue eyes back to the haggard Fjaldi, who really feels quite out of his element and would rather rest his feet. "So if that was my aunt Saarimda… Who are you, then?"

"Fjaldi dû Bthardamz. Err… You're Mellte?"

"I am!" he seems almost shocked that his cousin knows his name. _Unless…_

Golden eyes narrow in resignation. "Your dad didn't tell you about me, then? That puts us on the same page – my ma told me you existed five minutes ago. So… hi, I'm your cousin."

Mellte tilts his head, wild curls bouncing as he walks up to Fjaldi and circles him, seizing him up until he comes to a dramatized stop in front of him, bowing with a little twirl.

"Hi to you too, my mysterious cousin. Since our parents apparently decided we'd be better of getting to know each other without prior opinions, allow me to introduce myself: I'm Mellte dûn-ek Nchuand-Zel! Just Mellte will do, please and thank you. I'm seventeen winters as of the sixth of Sun's Dusk, I love leeks and pranks, and hate anything with chicken in it. Mom was a stonemason, dad is a Forgemaster. I've absolutely no clue what I'm going to do with my future except for tripping Kedd down a flight of stairs for insulting my dad on the way here. Any funny jokes or disrespect about his drinking habits and you'll regret it."

Fjaldi just stares at him with raised eyebrows for a few seconds before clearing his throat.

"Uhm… I'm Fjaldi. Sixteen as of the fifteenth of Hearthfire. I like… venison and reading, I guess. I hate people who try to push me into becoming a scholar like my dad. My mom is an Animunculi expert. I want to be a blacksmith of some sort, I suppose." A pause. "Insult my mother and I will deck you without hesitation."

He chuckles. "Now that I can understand." He makes a fluttery gesture with his hands. "But really. 'You suppose'? 'You guess'? Shy thing, aren't you? You seem alright, but that lack of confidence will be the first thing to go." He waggles his finger and links their arms together.

"Allow me to give you the grand tour, cousin! We'll make a proud Nchuand-Zel Dwemer out of you yet!"

It didn't seem like it at first, but it was the start of a bond that ran deep as if between brothers.

 **A/N: Interesting fact: Redguards deadass didn't exist in Tamriel yet at the time of the Dwemer's disappearance. They only arrived after approximately 100 years. I wanted to put them in the scene then went 'hold up I got to check this lore'. Apparently the Redguards had to flee a sinking continent in about 1E 792… and the Dwemer vanished around 1E 700. They never met.**


	52. Light-Hearted

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Transition chapter, fluff, dialogue-heavy.**

 **A/N at the bottom. This chapter is a self-indulgent filler, I swear.**

 _ **Last time…**_ _We spend until late at night discussing the book by Septimus Signus, and even if the man is rumoured to be batty, I absolutely must meet him. I have more and more of a feeling that he will be very helpful in getting me to my goal._

Chapter 52 – Light-hearted

At least, even though I am confined to an infirmary bed, I don't feel as if I'm wasting a lot of time. Between studying and deciphering the work of Signus, explaining any possible findings to Ondolemar and Marcurio, writing all I know of Dovahzul on piles upon piles of parchment, including their Word Wall locations, reassuring Lydia that I'll be fine, and entertaining several other guests, I have my hands full.

Five days pass in the blink of an eye, and then Colette walks in with the news I've been aching to hear: "You're free to leave the room, but you'll have to get a check-up once you return from Septimus Signus' Outpost and… Do try to take it easy."

Marcurio is following a class in advanced Destruction magic and Ondolemar has headed deeper into Winterhold to speak with someone who caught his interest there. Lydia is off training some novice mages how to wield a knife, alongside Jenassa, of all people, who'd been hired to keep a closer eye on safety within the college.

Which leaves me with the problem that is a lack of companions. Especially since I'm required to inform one of them before leaving the college thanks to Colette and thus, I'm stuck here for now.

 _Well. I suppose there is one thing I may do at the College before trying to track down anyone else. They're not expecting me out of bed for at least another two days anyway. I believe Onmund is in his quarters at this time of day, so I might as well get one of my duties over with._

 _Luckily, it's a duty to a friend, not to Nirn, and I'd be glad if I could aid him. Give him some security._

Upon entering the courtyard, the first thing to catch my eye is the new addition to it: a dragon corpse. Fully whole and kept in place with thick magical bindings as one of the teachers bends over the snout, making notes almost feverishly, a manic gleam in his eye.

 _Pity I can't control my soul-devouring tendencies._ I think humorously to myself. Because I wouldn't be able to let the poor man have his research time.

As I pass by, the dragon dissolves into small particles of light, its soul being torn from its body to be 'devoured' by me. I let the energy wash over my dispassionately, continuing my easy stroll unfazed as the teacher lets out a cry of dismay behind me.

The act of nonchalance takes a significant amount of self-control, as the now familiar pounding headache lingers a little longer than usual due to my bad condition.

" _My research_!"

I stifle a snort as I walk into the main building at a slightly quicker pace, bursting into snickers when I pass a group of awe-struck, slack-jawed mage students. They must be new, since I met most of the mages that were around before the Magnus crisis. "Dragonborn", one of them whispers reverently. I glance over my shoulder at the Breton that spoke, and she flinches back.

I want to growl at her. I am not a museum display to be gawked at. _Play nice. I have to play nice._

I plaster a small smirk on my face and give her a conspiratory wink. To my shock, she blushes and looks away, and I move up the stairs while pondering the odd phenomena.

 _I suppose people will always have a certain attraction for those they consider powerful. Or, of course, she was just embarrassed at being caught. I would be embarrassed too._

On another note.

 _Too many stairs. Too many. Why not build a lift? Note to self: have Onmund build a proper Dwemer lift in this place. It can only serve to brighten up the place._

I finally find the young Arch-Mage in his quarters, standing inside a small garden and carefully harvesting some Canis root. A concoction is brewing at the alchemy lab, J'zargo hovering over it with a swishing tail as he grounds something into fine powder.

Feline ears momentarily twitch in my direction, the Khajit blinking at me lazily and nodding once in recognition before returning to his work with renewed focus. Onmund rises as I approach slowly, giving me a beaming grin.

"Fjaldi!"

He sounds genuinely surprised to see me, and I give the Nord a small smile. "I'm glad to see you've regained your health! Especially after the state you were in when you arrived."

My smile turns a little strained for a few moments before I let the edge of my annoyance at the world soften. "And I am glad to see you are doing fine, as well, since we parted under such uncertain conditions last time. You've grown." I state warmly, watching the youth as his facial expression shifts between several unidentifiable emotions swiftly.

The bear hug is entirely unexpected, and I return it a little awkwardly as my shoulder is still rather stiff. "So how have you been?" tumbles over my lips, and Onmund steps back before giving me a glare.

 _At least, I think it's meant to be a glare. It really makes him look more like a pissed-off kitten though._

"What… You can't be serious right now." He mutters, "You were carried here, comatose after being injured fighting _necromancers_ of all things unholy, and then you come here and ask _me_ how I've been?" Snickering, the Nord shakes his head in disbelief.

J'zargo saunters over slowly, having set the alchemical experiment aside safely. "Onmund has been good." He purrs, standing closer behind the Arch-Mage than strictly necessary, his tail curling loosely, possessively, around the other's waist. "Oh yes, this one believes the little Alteration mage overworks himself too much. Works too much to have fun with J'zargo as we did before the Magnus mess."

A deaf man wouldn't have missed the innuendo in his voice.

I make a small choked sound as Onmund lights up like a beacon, swatting his… boyfriend? Partner? Lover?

"Well, I, uh thanks for informing me." I deadpan, rolling my eyes with a small twitch of my lips. At least the tension has dissipated a little.

"So what's your next plan, Fjaldi?" Onmund asks after a few seconds pass in awkward silence.

 _Now that's the million septims question, isn't it? What is the plan?_

I tap my chin with my finger, looking at the fairy lights dancing around the small garden but not really seeing them as I get lost in thought for a few moments, piecing together something resembling a structure to what I'll do next. There's no shortage of things to do, after all.

"There's a dragon corpse littering your courtyard. I will make new armour for myself, Lydia and Marcurio if there are enough scales and an anvil available. The corpse seems to be an Elder Dragon, so plenty of material should be available. Then I'll visit the Jarl to get that damned helmet delivered. After that, I'll be dragging Marcurio and Lydia to Septimus Signus' Outpost. But right now…"

 _This is it._

"I'm asking for your help." The Arch-Mage tilts his head in wonder before nodding determinedly. "Anything for the one who helped me save Winterhold."

I chuckle nervously. "You may not want to say that so quickly. I've heard you're keeping the Thalmor out of the college." He nods again, a little more confused and worried now.

"…You're not going to ask me to invite one, are you?" He asks hesitantly.

"No! No, definitely not!" I hurriedly exclaim, eyes going wide in disgust at the thought of another spy undermining every mage here. "Perish the thought! No… Uhm… How do I go about this? My friend Lyonmelar, you've seen him?"

"I have." _He's guarded now, shit, shit, shit!_

 _Well, I have little to lose. Onmund nor J'zargo will blab to the Thalmor about this, even if they refuse to house my friend._

"He needs sanctuary. He's on the run from the Thalmor and has wished to study magic in peace for as long as I've known him. I thought to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, by having him study here, if possible. The Thalmor are actively after him, so you might have to pull crazy stunts to keep him hidden when any come knocking but I was really hoping you'd…"

Onmund raises a hand.

I fall silent immediately, resenting the sensation of feeling like little more than a ball of nerves and anxiety.

"Alright. We'll take him in. On one condition."

That is not how Onmund would have reacted prior to Labyrinthian. He's become more mature with all those responsibilities he's taken on himself. I approve.

I see he's learned to play the game.

Now, it is my turn to nod determinedly. "What is it?" _I do hope it's nothing bad._

"When you're done deciphering the works of Signus and the Dovahzul language, I want you to donate all your notes to the college."

 _Oh sh- Wait. That's actually really manageable. I can do that._

"You have yourself a deal."

It seems like a weight falls of my shoulders, and my legs turn unsteady underneath me to the point that I stumble and sink down against the wall. A sigh of relief passes my lips as it seems I can finally relax a little. "You've _no idea,_ " I choke out roughly when the two hurry over to check if I'm alright, "No comprehension of how thankful I am right now."

They just grin, J'zargo staying flush against Onmund's side since he has likely figured out I've no problems with it, and only now does it really catch my attention to how openly they are acting now, compared to what I've seen outside of this room, now that the worries about Ondolemar have passed.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you two aren't married, are you?" I ask carefully, frowning lightly when they merely exchange glances.

J'zargo shrugs. "This one would not mind, but…"

Onmund sighs deeply, moving to entwine their hands absently as he presses his lips into a thin line darkly. "Here in Skyrim, while two males marrying is not frowned upon as harshly as in other regions, interracial marriage between a Nord and a Khajit is…" He shakes his head sadly, looking down, and I regret stumbling upon what's clearly an uncomfortable point.

"Who can officiate marriages in Skyrim? And what are the requirements?"

 _I just happen to know a priest of Mara who may be willing to help…_

Onmund glances at J'zargo, and they seem to have a quiet conversation, perfectly attuned to each other and for a heartbeat, I feel jealous that Marcurio and I still need words between us. _To be fair, we've not even kissed, and these two are… Well, by Dwemer standards, they are surely married._

"A priest of Mara officiates marriage ceremonies." Onmund starts slowly, eyeing me warily, "And there are only three requirements otherwise, really. A shrine of Mara, two wedding bands, and the consent of both parties that wish to marry."

" _Any_ priest of Mara? Even if they are not affiliated with the Temple in Riften?" I press, thinking about those errands I ran for the temple not too long ago, when I passed through to see if Erandur was still there. Thinking about what Dinya had said to me, and how one of my duties now is to ensure love in Skyrim can still thrive.

 _I am basically a certified matchmaker. I wouldn't mind helping these two if Erandur can officiate the ceremony._

Another exchange of significant looks.

"Well, it's rare, but I'm sure it can be done" Onmund says after a pregnant pause. "But there's been… Why would you… You mean Erandur, don't you?"

"If that priest is willing to bind us…" J'zargo purrs, eyes narrowing at me. "We have no shrine or rings."

I give the Khajit a face-splitting grin. "Oh dear me, you seen to forget you're talking to a Forgemaster. I'll need an Amulet of Mara, and a couple ingots… I'm thinking one gold, one silver, two refined malachite."

"…What do you need a gold ingot for? I do not believe it is part of any shrine." Onmund asks hesitantly, but something in his eyes gleams with hopeful excitement.

"Well… You obviously can't have a marriage without the rings." I drawl smugly, watching their faces light up hesitantly.

 _And since it's for friends…_

"Send for Erandur, the priest of Mara in Dawnstar. He's a good friend of mine, and should agree to come the second you mention my name. We can have the ceremony here at the college the moment he gets here. Judging by travel time, it'll be at about the moment I get back from the Outpost."

I give them a winning grin.

J'zargo mirrors it with sharp-tipped teeth. "Now _that_ is a plan this one likes!"

…

Before the day is over, I have acquired yet another title of 'Thane', in yet another hold. I'm close to losing track of all the titles people constantly press upon me, but as things are, any political weight counts, and any hold supporting me is another hold that might be convinced about the ridiculousness of the Civil War, so I count it as a bonus.

 _Also, making wedding bands was the easiest, if one of the oddest, things I've done in weeks! Why rings and not beads or even a piercing? Rings get in the way so often…_

The dragon corpse is dismantled and summarily forged into armour. Don't get it wrong, I'd appreciated the scale set that lasted me since leaving Solitude, but nothing makes me feel safer than having a set of well-tempered, well-fitted Dragonscale armour on me and Lydia. Marcurio has to settle for bracers, but as he knows defensive spells, he doesn't mind.

The process of retrieving an anvil from the Jarl's personal storage is a drag, though.

Speaking of which, it is both fantastic and terrifying to have the mage at my side again. Our relationship is… new. I'm out of my depth, and I don't have the luxury of stumbling on uncertain footing on any front right now.

Romance is more complicated than my naïve, pre-Marcurio self ever gave it due credit for.

… _At least Ondolemar is ecstatic._ The Altmer gives me a smile when we come across one another in the entry hall. A genuine, broad smile that's almost a grin. It looks weird on his face even as he clutches a stack of blank pages securely to his chest, bearing a striking resemblance to Aicantar in that one moment.

"Thank you, friend." I return the grin easily, surely imagining the choked-off emotions in the elf's voice.

"Sure thing. Stay safe now… And have fun exploring the Arcanum." I end somewhat sourly, irritated at the fact that even now, I still haven't visited the infamous library.

 _I suppose I'll never get there at all. Maybe it's for the best. Gods know I will stay in there until I've read all the books available, and I don't have the time for that right now. Maybe I should start my own library. Get a house. I mean, I have Hjerim, and Breezehome and Proudspire Manor, but… None of those feel like home._

 _It would be nice to have a place to retreat to, somewhere outside city walls. Something small to call home. Or perhaps a mansion, if I ever get my hands on necessary materials and helping hands._

It will have to wait. For now, I had ice banks to climb over and freezing, deadly waters to avoid in an effort to find the cave where the insane, reclusive, brilliant man called 'Septimus Signus' has hidden himself away for the past years.

A shiver runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold. _Ugh. I wonder why I'm having such a terrible feeling about this. My instincts never let me down before, so rather than wondering IF things will go sideways…_

 _I should probably wonder how_ badly _._

 **A/N:**

 **Alright, following the previous chapter I got several reviews and PM's about some continuity and lore issues in that chapter. First of all: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH for alerting me to it!**

 **For the one guest asking after Dwemer skin colours: I base my Dwemer skintones more on a blue/greyscale than gold. This is because in the Dwemer concept art they're also shown as having blue skin. I'd love it if someone would point out to me the chapter I described them as gold, so I can solve that issue right away! Note: I will also look myself, since I'm revising the first few chapters for other, smaller mistakes.**

 **I'll also re-evaluate my description of Septimus' book, since I got my stars confused (Thank you TichePotato for pointing me in the right direction!) and re-upload that somewhere by the end of the week.**

 **Then, for some bad news:** **THIS STORY MIGHT GET TAKEN DOWN OR NO LONGER BE UPDATED DUE TO ARTICLE 13 OF EUROPEAN PRIVACY POLICIES** **, which will be either accepted or not on July 4** **th** **. These articles are meant to CENSOR INTERNET CONTENT and prevent people from uploading copyrighted content. This ranges from newspaper articles, to book quotes, to memes and fan-written stories that take information from copyrighted sources without permits.**

 **That said, I do not know the full scope of the consequences of the Article, and in how far it will actually affect this story. I merely wished to give you all a heads up in case freedom of speech in Europe is compromised anywhere this week. Thanks for reading, please let me know your thoughts, and I hope to see you all next week!**


	53. Attunement is Key

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Crazy guy. Disappointments. My own headcanons.**

 **A/N: Ever have those weeks where life sneaks up on you and pulls a fast one? Happened to me this time 'round – I haven't been able to as much as sit down in days! I'll probably be taking it a little easy with this story for a bit, hopefully I can finish the next chapter in time…That said, I still managed to get this chapter finished on time, so I hope you all enjoy!**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _A shiver runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold. Ugh. I wonder why I'm having such a terrible feeling about this. My instincts never let me down before, so rather than wondering IF things will go sideways… I should probably wonder how badly._

Chapter 53 – Attunement is Key

After a journey that's as harrowing and dangerous as it is cold, we finally get to a small, insignificant seeming little door that, at first glance, seems more like a sewer gate with two extinguished torches above it.

The gales of wind that rage across the Sea of Ghosts shriek too loudly to hear any comments my companions might have made about the… charming entrance. The snow pierces the pieces uncovered by my armour as if I wasn't wearing anything, seeping underneath the seams like cold sweat. A glance to my right, carefully parting white-dusted eyelashes against the glare of the sun against the ice to see that Marcurio and Lydia are both shivering, glancing back at me.

Wind courses like a whirlwind around us, stirring up snow and nearly ripping off one of the torches. My stiff, frozen fingers find the edges of the hatch, trembling violently the second I put any force one the blueish-purple appendages.

We stumble inside a hallway of ice, the roar of the winds abruptly cut off as Lydia slams the grate back into place, leaving an unnerving silence only interrupted by the unsteady dripping of water somewhere ahead and our own, ragged breaths.

"If possible, never again." I croak hoarsely under my breath, glaring vehemently at the exit. "I'd rather not come all the way out here in no-one's land when at all possible. We might have frozen to death – and when the storm started, for a second I really thought we would." I let out a low string of curses, massaging some feeling back in my fingers as Marcurio casts a steady fire spell in his hands for us to huddle around.

"Do you _really_ make it a habit of yours to drag your allies up to the coldest and most remote places in all of Tamriel?" Lydia bites after a few minutes of warming up. Marcurio shakes his head roughly, droplets of molten snow flying off in all directions from the tips of his hair.

"He does. Just be glad none of us fell into the water and call it a day. I think we're all a bit moody." The Imperial mage drawls slowly, putting out the spell as his magica reserves run low. He downs a blue potion as we descend carefully down the slippery passage, though I'm sure they're as happy to be out of the disastrous weather as I am.

When we come upon a small chamber, hewn out in the ice, I can feel my breathing stutter in absolute shock even as Lydia lets out a low, impressed whistle.

 _A Dwemer Lockbox._

 _A Dwemer Lockbox is here._

 _I thought we only used those to lock away any knowledge even the highest ranked Dwemer scholars deemed too high-risk to fully explore? The ones thrown into the depths of the sea to be forgotten? The ones that can never be opened by anyone not a Dwemer, as other races don't know of its significance?_

 _A Dwemer Lockbox of Forbidden Knowledge. Here. In my path._

 _Why I find myself not as surprised as I should have been, I wonder?_

I draw myself up to my full height – even though that isn't much – and make my way down the slope like a Sabercat stalking prey.

Inwardly, I'm really, really hoping that Signus is not attempting to do what I fear he is attempting. The man himself is pacing around in seemingly random patterns, stopping in the corners of the ice cavern before turning, muttering to himself all the way.

"Dig, Dwemer, in the beyond. I'll know your lost unknown and rise to your depths…"

I heave a small sigh. _Aye, he's planning EXACTLY what I fear he is planning._

"I daresay that digging to rise to the understanding of my people is the most foolish things I can conceive for you to do, if you plan to do it through the means I see you attempt to employ."

Septimus Signus blinks at me, eyes glassy and wild, but I can still see the sharp awareness underneath, like a razor covered in a thin film of fabric.

"Who are you? The song that's being sang is no longer sung under the sun yet you sing to its tune. Tell Septimus, tell him!"

 _Ugh. This is going to be some Cicero-level bullshit isn't it?_

"I sing?" I ask, not really knowing how to handle madmen just yet – that's supposed to be Marcurio's strong suit, being Champion of Sheogorath and all that. I give him a glance from the corner of my eye, twitching my head in the direction of the researcher under the ice in askance. The Imperial mage frowns, then shrugs before bringing the Wabbajack in front of him.

 _Well, that's a backup in case the crazy guy goes ballistic on us._

"Yes, yes. Sing, you do, subtle and low like the Dwemer do. But the Dwemer are dead and gone, leaving only their unknown for us to know! I am here to learn their knowings! To harness the bane of Kagrenac and Dagoth Ur!"

I don't know about any Dagoth Ur, but ' _Kagrenac'_ sounds exceedingly familiar. A high priest and Tonal Architect, if I remember, widely acclaimed by Dwemer from all over Nirn for his research into… Into… Immortality? Was that what it was? Reaching godhood?

 _Aye. To finally draw that line we have sought to draw, to find if divinity meant true misunderstanding, to find if Dwemer could reach that through immortality. But… I do not know the details of his research, only that Lorkhan's Heart was involved. And rumour and hear-say, of course_. It has been one of the best-kept secret from those outside Kagrenac's personal council.

"The ice, the ice, it entombs the heart. The fundaments. The Dwemer lockbox hides it from me."

 _Then the Heart of Lorkhan must have been deemed too dangerous and locked away._

 _Good. Ma never liked the thought of our kin toying with it. It might have even caused the disappearance of my people, had it been left to be experimented on. Not believing the gods have any worth or say in our culture is different from outright attempting to copy them._

"The Elder Scroll gives deeper insights than the deep ones, though. It can see through time's flow. To bring about the opening. It can show the secrets, see through the trickiest of Dwemer trickery!"

I almost want to groan out loud. This idiot child. This idiot child wants to use an Elder Scroll to bypass the lock and the strongest defences my kin could place on whatever is in the lockbox. The Heart of Lorkhan or not, whatever is in there is locked away for a reason.

"I take it you don't just happen to have a convenient scroll lying about here, do you?" I ask, aiming for humour in my voice though it falls a bit flat as my eyes inevitably fall back to the lockbox. The mere sight of it fills me with dread.

"I've seen enough to know their fabric. The warp of air, the weft of time. But no, I do not hold it. The secrets of the lockbox would have been unveiled, sublime, had I had one here."

"You know enough about the Elder Scrolls to have written a book on it." I prod firmly, spotting two copies on one of his shelves and grabbing one, leafing through it but not reading as I wait for the mad genius to talk.

"Elder Scrolls. Indeed. The Empire. They absconded with them. Or so they think. The ones they saw. The ones they thought they saw. I know of one. Forgotten. Sequestered. But I cannot go to it, not poor Septimus for I… I have arisen beyond its grasp."

 _Presumably, he walked into Fal Zhardum Din and saw it. More likely, he knows of it through an external source… But who, or what, would indulge him like that? Someone or something that has great amounts of knowledge, perhaps a divine..? But no, a divine would not have driven him mad. A… Daedra… Daedric Prince of Know…_

 _Well then. Fuck me sideways with a fork, to adapt one of Marcurio's favourite phrases._

"But you do know its location, then."

"Of course, it's here!" For a millisecond, I am tempted to look around. Lydia looks around, and Marcurio makes an aborted head movement before scowling fiercely at the researcher in front of us. "Here. As in this place. Mundus. Tamriel. On the cosmological scale, it's all nearby." Septimus lets out a mad little giggle.

I resist the urge to facepalm as I realise my statement was entirely unnecessary as I _know_ where the Elder Scroll is. I only need this guy for the key.

"Can you help me get to the Scroll?" _Finally, we arrive at the crux of the matter._

Of course, the idiotic genius then goes to ask me for a favour. _His patron either wants something, or Septimus wants it for himself and the Woodland Man is just patiently waiting for the knowledge to get to him._

 _Hermaeus Mora must be pissed off at something being so close within reach yet not in his knowing._

"You see this masterwork of the Dwemer? Septimus is clever among men, but he is but an idiot child compared to the dullest of Dwemer."

I make a small, derisive sound. "Tsk. You can say that again." I murmur low under my breath. _Took the words right out of my mouth._

"Lucky then they left behind their own way of reading the Elder Scrolls. In the depths of Blackreach one yet lies. Have you heard of Blackreach? 'Cast upon where…"

"I know Blackreach." I cut him off sharply, eager to get things over with now that my suspicions have been all but confirmed. _Called it._

"Only Septimus knows the hidden key to the loose the lock to jump beneath the deadly rock." The researches states smugly, and my eyes flash dangerously.

"Fine." I say icily, resisting the urge to grab my axe and loot the researcher for any notes or items of use. "How do I get in?"

"Two things Septimus has for you. Two shapes. One edged, one round. The round one, for tuning. Like Dwemer music, soft and subtle, needed to open their deepest gates for they only listen to one song. But ah, you must already know that, too. The edged lexicon then. Have you seen, clever one, one of these before?"

"I have not." _As much as I loathe to admit it to this man._

Septimus cackles, spinning the key to entering Fal Zhardum Din in his hand as if it were a toy ball, making my heart hammer in my throat because I'm not certain of how fragile the thing is, and I need it to be whole and in my grasp, desperately. _Preferably I would have had it five minutes ago._

"The edged lexicon, for inscribing. To those on the surface, but a hunk of metal. To the Dwemer, a library full of the deepest knowings. But… empty."

 _It does look a little… dull to be a library. I would have expected it to glow blue if there was more to it than the eye can see._

For perhaps the first time since I stepped out of the ruins of my home, over a year ago, I feel a stab of irritation at my own people, for making this quest to defeat Alduin even more difficult by indirectly bringing a Dwemer Lockbox into it.

On the other hand, I might just be irritated in general. This meeting so far has been nothing but a disappointment – finally having the Key to Fal Zhardum Din notwithstanding.

Septimus stares at me, unblinkingly. "Find Mzark and its sky-dome. The machinations there will read the Scroll and lay the lore upon the cube. Trust Septimus. He knows you can know."

 _I don't trust him as far as I can Shout him… Err, I mean, as far as I can throw a dragon with my bare hands. I could Shout him pretty far._

There's no denying that his advice may prove useful though.

I take both items with some hesitation, before handing the lexicon to Marcurio to hold on to. I keep my eyes on the mage for a moment.

 _Do we trust him?_

 _Do we have a choice?_ His eyes ask me in return, marred by the deep frown on his face as he turns to the researcher. "What do you expect to gain from the Elder Scroll?"

I sigh and cut Septimus off before the madman can formulate an answer. "He wants to open the Dwemer Lockbox. With the Elder Scroll he can find a way past the lock. It holds a hart, according to him. The Heart of Lorkhan, if I know my lore. My… The Dwemer must have locked it away."

Septimus stares blankly at me for a few moments, before cackling, loud and grating and working on my nerves.

"Yes, yes, all right, very right, of course… _Almost_ , that is. Your friend, the observant one, so clever to ask. And you almost figured out Septimus and got the answer, but no, not entirely! This Dwemer lockbox, truly a wonder. The heart, yes, it was hidden. Not by Dwarves, however. They were already gone. Someone else. Unseen Unknown. They found the heart, and with a flair for the ironical, used Dwarven trickery to lock it away. In that you were most wrong!"

A brief pause. "But yes. Yes, Septimus wishes to use the Scroll to find the Heart within."

I exchange looks with Marcurio. "Right then." The Imperial mage mutters, briskly moving back up the ramp clutching the empty lexicon. "We'll just… Go then."

Lydia and I walk after the man without complaint, leaving Septimus Signus to his mad ramblings.

"I didn't like the guy. Gave me the chills." Marcurio growls the moment we're outside. I take a moment to stare at the blindingly blue sky, bare of clouds as the unpredictable weather of the Sea of Ghosts changes almost by the minute, before letting out a scoff.

"He is an idiot child." I begin heatedly, clenching my fists violently before kicking the icy rock just behind me as a way to vent off my anger.

"He has no idea – absolutely no idea – I mean." I run a hand through my hair, sighing heavily.

"There… A Dwemer lockbox is a bitch, and a difficult and complex object to create even for my people. One is only made in the direst of situations, when an artefact deemed too dangerous to examine needs to be locked away. Even if Septimus gets his hand on the Elder Scroll, only a Dwemer could open it… At least that's how I remember they were designed."

I let out a mirthless chuckle. "Considering that my kin even experimented with an Elder Scroll, I fear what may lie within. If Septimus is right, it's the Heart of a God. If he's not… I shudder to even consider it, if even Hermaeus Mora took an interest."

Marcurio lets out a rough sigh, even as Lydia runs a tired hand through her unruly hair. "I thought I sensed something off about the guy." The wizard grunts, sitting down on a nearby ice bank, pulling out a drink and taking a long swig, presumably to calm his nerves.

"…So, what do we do next?" My Housecarl asks after a few moments of uneasy silence.

I'm about to reply when the Attunement Sphere, still firmly in my grasp, starts humming, low and deep and rumbling through my body, rattling my bones and pounding through my head, singing and aching and…

My vision blackens, spins, and then the ground comes up to meet me in spurts, as my legs give out and I collapse onto my knees, catching myself with my hands before the ice comes up to meet me and the world fades out.

 **A/N: In happier news, this story will apparently NOT be taken down! Hell yeah!**


	54. Mara's Influence

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Bothersome fluff. Rare Pair.**

 **A/N: This unedited piece of crap took way longer than I expected to write. I hope you all enjoy regardless!**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _My vision blackens, spins, and then the ground comes up to meet me in spurts, as my legs give out and I collapse onto my knees, catching myself with my hands before the ice comes up to meet me and the world fades out._

Chapter 54 – Mara's Influence

" **At last."**

I groan, my vision shifting back into focus slowly.

I can't look left, or right, not down or up. Couldn't, even if I wanted to. In front of my face I see two glowing eyes cast in a dim blue light. Red and cruel, set in sharp, pitch black scales and for a moment I am horribly reminded of Alduin, but it passes when I observe closer, see that the eyes are not malevolent, just tired. They aren't even red. They're a deep, emerald green.

They slowly blink at me. Corners shift, and I realise that what I see is not full reality, more like… A Dream.

 _Ugh. Gives me Vaermina flashbacks._

" **You took longer than I had expected.** **Zu'u Lost Lingrah Saraan, Dovahkiin."**

 _There is a… Dragon sitting in front of me. A friendly dragon that speaks Dwemeris. Now I know for sure I am dreaming._

" **You are Vulthuryol, aren't you?** " I ask carefully, holding the creature's gaze as steadily as I can. I've no time to think on how I got to be in this situation.

" **Geh. Zu'u Los Vulthuryol.** **Dark Fire King, in your tongue. I have waited long for you to find the Key to Fal Zhardum Din,** **Dovahkiin.** **You must** **Siiv** **\- find me."**

"So you have told me." I mumble, thinking on all the visions I had so far. "You've been sending me… Visions. Like the time I took Marcurio and Erandur with me into Nchuand-Zel. Were you also the man in the purple robes? I dreamt of him the night I was… Displaced."

The dragon tilts his head before shaking it, and even though this is a dream I can feel short gusts of wind caress my cheeks and play with my hair. Vulthuryol looks… Younger than Paarthurnax. Not as ragged. His scales, tiny as my fingernails around his eyes and nose, shimmer under the blue light. His eyes aren't covered in white film, instead glowing with some inner fire, that seems… dulled. Exhausted. It's the only place where I can detect Vulthuryol's true age, and it's… unsettling.

" **Vomindok.** **It is unknown to me who this… Man was. I am no** **Jul** **and do not possess such a form.** **Krosis** **, but if I did not wish it were so.** "

 _He wishes he had a mortal form?_

"How so? Is it part of why you needed my help?"

The gargantuan dragon once more shakes his head, little wisps of smoke escaping his nostrils though I do not smell it as he almost seems to… sigh.

" **Nid. Zu'u Gahvon Grik Hahnu Tiid Vod.** **I gave up on such dreams ages ago,** **Dovahkiin.** **There is no escape from Fal Zhardum Din for me. But that is not why I called you here.** **Piraak Hin Haal.** **I need your help.** "

 _What?_ "Aye, so you said. With what, then?"

Vulthuryol suddenly throws his head back and roars in rage, and I would have scrambled back had I had the ability to move at all. As it is, I only feel a spike of fear and yelp in surprise at the completely unexpected aggression.

The dragon turns his gaze back to me, smouldering with rage now, but not at me.

" **Zu'u Los Deinmaar Tum-Qethsegol** **.** **I am protector of Fal Zhardum Din. Your** **Joorre Kiin, Tumgol,** **have caged me and taken that which I was to protect:** **Dovah Kel** **. Now, they are gone, replaced by** **Mahlaan Fahliil** **. I cannot keep the Fallen from the** **Kel** **forever.** "

" **Descend into the Deep.** **Gaar Mir.** _ **Free me**_. **Free me and retrieve the** **Kel.** **I will give** **Aak** **. Show you how to. Only you can do this task, Only** **Dovahsil** **can bear its burden.** "

He rears back once again, eyes still so tired, so downtrodden, and so harshly reminding me of the face I see reflected in the water when I am so, so tired of my duties and responsibilities.

" **I will find you, Vulthuryol. And I will help."** I vow solemnly as the world starts to fade around me, the last things I see being green, green glowing eyes.

The next things I know I'm looking into a pair of concerned brown eyes instead.

"…Di, Fjaldi? Oh, thank the gods you're awake! You suddenly passed out! What the hell was that?" Marcurio exclaims worriedly, helping me to stand up and brushing off the snow like a fussy mother hen.

 _Somehow, I think that "I talked to a dragon in a dream and we're going to save him" will be an acceptable excuse._

As if on cue, my shoulder twinges sharply and I flinch, grabbing at it instinctively. Two pairs of eyes fly to the movement immediately, and Lydia curses harshly, taking up my other side as we make our way back to the College.

"My Thane, we will have a healer look at you again. It seems your injury was acting up." She says sharply, and I merely nod as if agreeing, seeing the woman hand the Attunement Sphere over to Marcurio, who stuffs it in his sack.

I relax marginally. _It will be safe with him._

…

Winterhold is a hundred times more merry than I ever remember it being. When we cross the bridge, Marcurio shepherds me over to the infirmary to get my injury checked on before leaving to catch Erandur, even as Jenassa falls into step with me to explain the situation with Lydia following us at a more sedate speed as she's not yet used to the punishing pace I normally set.

 _Perhaps I pushed myself a little too hard_ , I muse distractedly as the Dunmer explains that Erandur arrived and that the wedding was set to take place that evening.

"They wanted to wait until you got back from the wastes." She tells me as Colette looks me over and deems my injury aggravated, but not to the point that it's a health risk.

I give the mercenary a lopsided grin, secretly quite pleased that they all think so highly of me that they'd wait with their wedding. "So who else is here?"

Jenassa huffs and starts counting on her fingers with an aggravated noise. "Well, I suppose I may as well gives the names of everyone that walked in here in the last two days since you seem to have made connections all over Skyrim. There's me and Torvar, a member of the Companions who was also hired to protect this place. Lydia, of course. Then Marcurio and Lyonmelar, the wizards you brought in, and, naturally, every member of the College of Winterhold. Then the Priest of Mara Erandur and some Argonian called 'Veezara' who's been driving everyone up the walls asking for you."

It's like a bucket of ice has been thrown in my face. _Veezara? Veezara is here?_

"Now that's unexpected." _Suppose I'll deal with him first, then._ "Point him in my direction when you see him, alright? He's an ally."

She nods, but gives me a dark look. "If anything happens to you he's dead. He has this… Way about him. Be careful." With that, she's gone.

I sigh, starting to dig around in my pack. I carry my Dark Brotherhood gear with me at all times – I'm not about to make the same mistake I did back in Solitude. Then there's a spare set of bracers, a few ingots and jewels, gold and potions and…

Absolutely nothing to wear to a wedding.

The door to the little infirmary room everyone seems to have subconsciously dubbed as 'mine' opens again and I turn to the intruder with a growl on my lips and an insult on my tongue.

Only to pause in my tracks.

"Veezara." I greet as calmly as possible.

He nods solemnly in return. "Brother. We've been missing you back home."

I deadpan at the Argonian, shaking my head and turning to my pack. "I finished that contract. I've also been up to my neck in Dragonborn and Thane-related duties."

"I know. I've not been send here to reprimand you. Quite the contrary, actually. You handled Potema Septim… Exceptionally well. Astrid wanted me to come here to give you your pay for the contract, as well as a bonus for your swift reaction in dealing with an unexpected threat. She also wished me to tell you that you are free to return whenever you wish, since she has an interesting contract set up for you."

My grin, which had faded after being scared of having to deal with a pissed-off assassin, returns full-force. "Alright. Is there a reason you were send, and not, say, Nazir or Gabriella?"

The shadowscale startles, then shakes his head minutely. "Oh no, I just volunteered. There were no interesting contracts to be had and I grew bored. You were interesting. Hence, the volunteering."

I snicker softly, starting to put everything back in my knapsack. "Interesting? By Oblivion, Veezara, I wish I weren't! I've not even a single normal set of clothes to wear!"

Lydia takes that moment to poke her head into the room. Sensing the easy atmosphere between me and my… friend, she smiles carefully. "I could go out into Winterhold and see if anyone has clothing to spare. The Jarl, perhaps, may have a set for you, since you _are_ a Thane here also, my Thane."

"Have I ever told you that you're a lifesaver?"

"Many times, my Thane."

"You're a lifesaver, just in case you didn't know."

"Thank you, my Thane." Her smile grows a little, pleased, before she shits the door carefully.

I scratch my head, looking at the assassin and tilting my head even as I start to undo the clasps on my bracers. "So, are you going to stick around for the wedding?"

He blinks slowly. "Actually, I was hoping to rest up a bit, first. I'd be glad to visit you tomorrow, though."

"Certainly. I will probably come by soon, after I manage to re-discover an ancient cavern system that caused several decades of war for my people."

The Argonian barks out a laugh, throwing out a parting comment over his shoulder as he leaves. "Guess I was right about you being interesting. Do tell me all about it once you come home."

I sit down to wait for Lydia's return, and with 'sitting down' I really mean 'drop flat on my back on the bed with one leg dangling off, throwing an arm over my eyes with a groan of misery.'

"Why is my life so complicated?" I ask aloud, to nobody in particular, or maybe to the gods who seem intent on ruining any and every chances I may have had at settling and having a semi-normal life here in Skyrim.

"Perhaps because you are lying down when you should be preparing, in this case, for a wedding, my Thane." Lydia comments smartly as she barges back into the room without preamble. I give her a half-hearted glare, only to settle for raising an eyebrow at the large stack of items she is carrying with her.

"I could have been undressed."

"It is not something I have never seen before, my Thane. I served with the Whiterun guards for three years before being sworn to your service, after all." She snickers as I scrunch my nose in distaste at aforementioned guard's lack of decorum.

"And as your Housecarl, it is my duty to ensure you are presentable for formal events such as the one you are about to be late for."

 _I'm late for the wedding? I haven't even spoken to Erandur yet… Speaking of which, should I take him on the expedition? That would make a group of four: Me, Marcurio, Lydia and him. Should I give Jenassa the offer to come along? Perhaps five people is a bit much for a covert operation… Wouldn't want the Thalmor to catch wind of an Elder Scroll hunt going on._

 _I suppose I should first focus on the wedding._ I let out another forlorn groan before fighting my way upright, eyeing the stack of clothing worriedly.

"…You're not going to have me wear all of that, are you?"

Lydia just grins. "Until we settle on something appropriate, my Thane." I swallow thickly. _Oh boy._

She even has me stand on a stool like I am a child.

After no less than four different robes, two types of fine clothing in _two colours each,_ three tunics and even something that more resembled a dress, Lydia had finally settled on putting me in a set of patterned green robes, as fine clothing apparently makes me look uncomfortable.

 _Jeez, I am so terribly sorry for not having the fondest memory of the last times I wore any item of clothing more pricey than ten septims – that being the incident at the Thalmor Embassy and Vicci's reception._ I grumble to myself, but since Lydia technically is not supposed to know about the Thalmor Embassy Incident, I keep my reservations to myself and accept the green robes.

"Green looks good on you. It complements your yellow eyes and dark hair." She comments candidly, making some final adjustments. _It does?_

"Uhm… thank you..?" I mutter somewhat self-consciously, hating myself for the traitorous thought of ' _will Marcurio like it_ ', that echoes through my head.

She gives me a strange half-smile even as she sews the hem of the robe to make it shorter. "I was trained to be a Housecarl to either a male or female Thane. If you ever need a seam stitched up, give me a holler."

"Why the sudden change of attitude? You're usually so… Frigid." I ask uncertainly, hoping that the comment won't cause her to stab me with the needle that is, I now know, a standard part of her equipment.

She packs up her gear and neatly makes a stack out of the discarded clothing before replying. "Merely a love for weddings, my Thane. Speaking of which, you will miss the ceremony in the Arch Mage's Quarters if you do not leave… About now."

I curse even as I hop awkwardly to the door on one leg, not having my second shoe fully on my foot. "Damnit Lydia!" And to make things worse, because of course, it could and would get worse, I slam straight into Marcurio when the wizard opens the door just as I make to sprint through it, the collision sending us both tumbling out into the hallway, the mage's back hitting the stone with a muffled ' _oomph_ '.

"I'm so sorry." I breathe, panicking inside at the pained expression that briefly crosses my favourite Imperial's face.

"It's alright, I wanted to come pick you up since you took so long." He wheezes. I scramble to get off him, reaching down and grabbing his hand to help him get up. When I make to let go of him, though, the mage twists our hands and laces our fingers together unabashedly, without as much as a by-your-leave.

 _I… uh, what? This, just… huh?_

I find myself in a rare state of speechlessness, staring wide-eyed at our joined eyes even as a fiery blush starts to burn my face and ears. When I move my gaze up to meet Marcurio's warm eyes, not really knowing what to do and trying to force out something intelligible anyway, the wizard only grins mischievously at my indignant spluttering.

"Shall we?"

As he drags me with him, our hands still intertwined, I can hear Lydia's laughter follow us all the way to the main courtyard.

…

"It was Mara that first gave birth to all of Creation and pledged to watch over us, as her children. It is from her love of us, that we learned to love one another. It is from this love that we learn that to live life alone, is no life at all. We are all gathered here today under Mara's loving gaze, to bear witness to the union of two souls…"

The speech Erandur holds is shorter than what I'm used to from Dwemer marriage festivals, but then again, a wedding in Skyrim joins only two souls at a time. I'm too distracted to hear all of it as we stand to the side alongside the other people at the College - even Ondolemar chose to attend, standing in a shadowy corner, on his own but radiating contentedness.

Marcurio holds my hand throughout the entire ceremony, even as Onmund and J'zargo pledge themselves to each other, big smiles on their faces the entire time.

It's a strangely pleasant sensation, warm and comforting. At some point, he starts to draw small circles on the back of my hand with his thumb, it makes the tips of my ears tingle, but I let him do it, unable to fight off the small smile on my face.

It's a small ceremony overall. Held in the quarters of the Arch Mage, in front of the garden in the centre, a table has been placed with a shrine of Mara on top of it. Chairs and benches have been dragged from all over the room to give the older occupants of the College a place to sit, but most people in the small gathering choose to stand.

After they exchange rings and receive loud cheers and congratulations, Marcurio finally lets go of my hand in order to give his own congratulations to the new happy couple.

I listen in half-heartedly, clenching and unclenching my fingers as I look down at them, already missing the warmth of his hand there. Then J'zargo, the ever-observant bastard, of course has to make a sly comment that draws my full attention.

"This one noticed that J'zargo and Onmund are not the only ones in a relationship. J'zargo had figured you two would end up together. He even wrote so in the letter, right, Onmund?"

The other half of the newlywed couple laughs. "I believe the exact words were a bit different, but yes, I think you mentioned it." The blonde Nord turns to Marcurio, then. "So, how long has it been? Are you married, too? I don't see any rings on either of you."

The Imperial chuckles somewhat sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing at me with a questioning gleam in his eyes. ' _Will you come help me out here?_ ' it asks, and I allow a lopsided grin to tug at my lips as I join the small group, still mostly in the centre of the attention.

 _Whatever is said here will go directly into the rumour mill, I just know it. Damnit, there goes my plan to keep a target off Marcurio's back._

… _He can protect himself though, when push comes to shove._ I allow the reassuring thought to relax me. "Congratulations, you two. May you live a long and blessed life together."

They both chuckle. "We will, I assure you. And we owe it to you. Thanks, thanks again for helping us." Onmund says in a low voice, and I give him a friendly pat on the back before waiting for the unavoidable questions brimming in their every movement to bubble up to the surface in the shape of words.

"So?" The Nord, always the better talker when it did not come down to discussing magical theory and accomplishments, prompts after a pause.

I exchange glances with Marcurio before answering carefully. "We are together, aye. But… We're not married." _Yet,_ I tack on to the end in the private sphere of my mind, _because I'm not used to this, and I'm unsure, and probably a terrible romantic partner._

"Fjaldi's culture is a great deal different from the one here." Marcurio interjects my mental worrying smoothly, "I'm happy to wait until he's comfortable." I can only smile faintly and nod as the two young mages turn to me in askance.

"Really? Wow, it must be really different from modern Tamriel, then! J'zargo told me that in Elseweyr, Valenwood, Cyrodill... Pretty much everywhere except in Alinor, courtships take only a few months, at most."

I clear my throat, not noticing Erandur coming closer and listening in as I explain: "My kin made a big deal out of courtships. It could last several years – one memorable case took seven – and involves a lot of mutual gift giving and gaining the approval of at least one person you consider family, as they are the one to make your marriage public on the day of the Marriage festival. Aye, festival. We have all the weddings on one day in the year, the first day of Spring."

I let the new information sink in, and J'zargo lets out an impressed whistle. "But wait, this one does not understand. If two Dwemer are announced to have been married before the festival, how are they married?"

I open my mouth to give him the answer before his question fully registers. When it does, I flounder, splutter, and feel a deep red colour my face all the way down to my neck. _Gods, I can't even look Marcurio in the eye right now._

Looking everywhere but at the people listening, I manage to choke out a single word in a soft whisper: _"Sex."_

Stunned silence before Marcurio suddenly points an accusing finger at me. "Ah-hah! So THAT'S why you were so angry back in Falkreath! You thought I'd married my one night stand!" He crows, somehow still talking in a soft voice. I nearly whine out loud in mortification, but I manage to get by through burying my face in my hands and nodding. _I must look like a mountain flower, all dressed in green with a fiery red head._

"An understandable mistake. I don't imagine anyone saw the need to explain our resident Dwemer about the cultural differences. He seems to pick them up and adapt to new situations admirably fast as it is." Erandur suddenly comes into the conversation

"Thanks." I mutter, the words a little strangled by embarrassment. _I hadn't even noticed him listening in..?_

The priest of Mara clears his throat, but I can just spot the stifled, cheeky grin he's trying to hide behind his fist. The grin is revealed, unrepentant, when the Dunmer sees that I've caught him. I give him my most deadpan stare, but to my exasperation, it makes no impact.

"Is there anything else you need me for while I am here? I have not made any plans to return to Dawnstar yet, just in case, as the notice I had received mentioned you finding a lead to the defeat of Alduin..?"

I nod, eager to get off the topic. "Aye. The information I wish to share isn't for public consumption, however. We may want to relocate to a more… Secure location. What I can say is that I am organising an… excavation, of sorts. I will need you, Marcurio, and Lydia. Possibly someone else. It's… a big project, but I think we might be better off with a small group, as it has to stay under wraps – the Thalmor can, under _no circumstance,_ find out about this. Neither can the Empire, _or_ the Stormcloaks. It's that dangerous."

The dunmer chuckles wryly. "I have faced Daedric Princes. I believe I can handle whatever you wish to throw yourself into. I believe I will join you." I give him a thankful smile, and Onmund snickers.

"Sounds like stories I wish to hear, even if they're terrible business. Anyway, you're free to use our rooftop. The tallest tower has winds so loud it's impossible to listen in. Sometimes even when the participants of a conversation are screaming abuse at each other. And, Fjaldi? Thanks again. If there's ever anything we can do for you, feel free to just ask."

I hold up a hand as if to ward him off, smiling fondly at the youth. "We're friends. Also, if anything, I owe you for taking a large problem off my chest. Lyonmelar needed a place to stay badly, and I could hardly bring him along with me, as I regularly visit places like Solitude and Windhelm, neither of which would be very… accommodating."

"I see." Onmund nods again, with a solemnity that comes from fully understanding. _He's matured so much since I first met him – being Arch-mage must be hard on him, but also good for him._

…

Everyone has left, and Marcurio and I have made our way to the rooftop. It's freezing cold, a harsh wind cutting up my lips as I try to part them, or so it feels. I stare up at the grey sky, clouds rolling over each other like waves crashing into the beach. The weather is unruly, but not impossible to bear. _I'm long happy that it's dry._

We stand in companionable silence for a few moments as we wait for the others to arrive. I'm content to remain that way. The Imperial mage has other ideas.

Marcurio bites his lip. Gives me a once-over. Then grins roguishly, and I dread to hear what he's thinking.

"You, back in Falkreath… You were _jealous_ , weren't you?"

"Oh, _shut up._ "


	55. Dust and Danger

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Falmer. Anything else will give too much away.**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _You, back in Falkreath… You were jealous, weren't you?"_

" _Oh, shut up."_

Chapter 55 – Dust and Danger

Fal Zhardum Din takes my breath away. The cavern system is enormous, far bigger than I had anticipated, despite knowing a civil war has been fought in just this one underground area.

The rock itself seems to glow, vibrant blue veins running along the walls and up into the mist, curling and twisting like the patterns of blue azurite, a rare gem only found in areas rich in Malachite, in Valenwood. Giant glowing mushrooms sprout from the ground, swaying gently in non-existent wind, appearing at first glance similar to their alchemy variant, and yet very different in species, I'm sure.

The golden Dwemer metal, used for not only buildings here, but also to pave the roads, is cast in a shade of green I have yet to see on the surface of Skyrim, giving me the feeling of being on a moss-covered lakebed, deep underwater on a bright sunny day.

It smells of dust and fungus, of waters rich in algae, and the air is far more humid –and pleasant - than the awfully stagnant, dry climate of the steam-powered Dwemer Ruins of Alftand we just stepped out of.

Strange sounds, like ethereal music, echo throughout the blue-lit cavern. It's calming, serene, and by the gods, I can't believe this place is even _real._ It seems to be fully detached from the world outside.

 _Am I sure we didn't just all wander into an Outer Realm?_ I wonder in awe.

Specks of glowing dust dance through the still air, caressing me and tickling my nose playfully, giving the entire place an unearthly feel.

Then Lydia sneezes violently.

It breaks the spell that had fallen over all four of us, and I snicker as she doubles over with the force of her sneezing. Erandur coughs politely into his hand to cover up his own amusement. Marcurio is still busy analysing the buildings in the distance, the mushrooms, the air… Everything he can see, really.

 _Right. He's fascinated by the Dwemer. Now, I must admit, this place fascinates even me and I AM one._

"What are we looking for?" Erandur asks after another few moments spend in awed, stunned silence, the priest visible gathering his focus.

I tear my eyes away from the spectacle in front of me with no little difficulty. "Right." I clear my throat, "We're trying to find the Tower of Mzark. Big thing, probably goes all the way to the ceiling. It holds the Elder Scroll we need. Also, if we come across a dragon down here, do _not_ attack him. Who has the lexicon?"

"How would a dragon even get down here?" Marcurio asks incredulously, eyeing the entrance through which we came even as he passes me the cube. "We're down too far for any openings leading all the way to the surface, nevermind one large enough to be accessed by a dragon!"

I stare as the wizard attempts to use logic, off all things non-magical. Then I snort. "Magic, probably. Or the gods. Take your pick. Stranger things occur."

He hums in agreement, after a lengthy pause in which he merely gives me a mildly annoyed yet amused Look. I have been the recipient of that one more times than I can count, and so I only offer a mischievous grin in reply.

"Do you even know where we are supposed to be headed? You have not been here before, same as all of us, of course, so I suspect you do not know where we are, exactly." Erandur ponders, addressing me though it almost sounds like he's talking to himself.

"I know where the Tower of Mzark is approximately located…" I start off, and before the others can groan, complain, mutter insults under their breath or anything else _because they have_ such _great faith in me_ , I continue:

" _Which_ is all I need. I know where Alftand is, and Mzinchaleft, and Raldbthar. I expect their locations above the ground to at least be close to their entry points into Fal Zhardum Din."

I point straight ahead. "We're at the wrong end. The tower is on the other side of the cavern."

Now I do hear muttering, mostly from Lydia and Marcurio, but hey, at least they're angry at Septimus, and not me. Chuckling, I heft an axe over my shoulder, eyeing the golden green path right ahead. "Let's get this show on the road. This is going to take a while."

 _Humph. Who am I kidding? This will take us DAYS, especially since it's just the four of us here, and not an entire expedition._

…

I look to my left and I see a Falmer.

 _Great._

I look to my right and I see two more Falmer.

 _Fantastic. Note the sarcasm._

I look right ahead and, guess what, I spot _even more_ Falmer sprinting towards us with bows and swords and a lot of general screeching. I swallow thickly, clenching my axes a little tighter as I have to wait for them to get in range so I give Marcurio the chance to pick some of them off.

There are so many of them. I've never seen a group this huge before – not even in Nchuand-Zel, which was crawling with the bastards!

 _Fuck._

 _My._

 _Life._

"Incoming!" Marcurio yells in warning, starting to fling shock spells at the horde of creatures intending to kill us. Erandur merely lets out a string of creative curses that are not befitting of a priest of Mara and charges with his mace – he'd ran out of magica while we took down some Chaurus reapers less than an hour ago.

Lydia is already chopping off limbs and twirling around in a storm created with the blood of her enemies, because she's a goddamn warrior queen and doesn't need us to watch her back. Nor does she need patience.

As her grumbling was what alerted the Falmer in the first place, I somewhat vindictively let her fend for herself for now, trying instead to better assess the shitty situation we've ended up in.

We're standing on top of a high platform, too close to the edge of a deep drop into the waters far below for comfort. We'd decided to climb up on a whim – hoping that a better view of our surroundings might give us a chance at glimpsing the Tower of Mzark we'd been looking for the past three days.

We're low on food rations after we lost a bag to the Chaurus, we're low on water because the amount of spores and algae in the waters around here make it too dangerous to risk drinking it. Erandur's magica won't charge properly and we're out of Cure Disease potions and Lydia's armour is worse for wear and her supplies are waterlogged after she slipped down a ramp and ended up taking an involuntary swim.

We're tired. Worn. Exhausted. And we can't quit or take a break now.

I'm running out of time and I can _feel_ it in every fiber of my being. I don't even know what time I'm running out of, or why. There's just a constant need to push on, and it's not taken kindly by the other members of the group, even though they're sympathetic to my problem.

And there's still no sign of either a dragon or an Elder Scroll anywhere. Just too many Flamer to count. And their slaves, by Sithis, their _slaves_.

It's horrifying.

I put all thoughts out of my mind and lift my weapons higher, hacking away at the horde that threatens to overwhelm us, pushing my friends further and further towards the edge of the platform.

A horrid screech, like a Hagraven but higher in pitch, comes way to close for comfort, and I pivot with my axe drawn but the Falmer sword is already slipping past my defences and _I'm not going to be able to block it and it's going to pierce my neck and –_

The Falmer warrior is send flying away, blasted backwards by a lightning bolt before slamming into the far wall with a sickening 'thud', before sinking lifelessly to the stone.

I grin, heartened, glancing over my shoulder with a snarky remark on my lips…

Only for the smile to drop off my face as my eyes meet Marcurio's. One of the mages' hands is still outstretched towards me, the spell flickering and dying as I stare blankly. His expression is frozen in a strange mixture of confusion, disturbance, and agony as white-knuckled fingers clutch desperately at the arrowhead protruding from his chest.

I'm helpless, mindless, to stupefied to move beyond an aborted twitch of my arm, as if trying to grab him even from the large distance between us. Before my eyes, happening as if in slow-motion, he stumbles, backwards, already precariously close to the edge.

My mouth tries to catch up with what I am seeing, with what my mind is trying to comprehend even as my stomach lurches and my heart _squeezes…_

Then he topples backwards, out of sight.

" _ **MARCURIO!**_ "

The howl that tears itself from my throat _burns_ , like it is build up of shards of glass, cutting into me in despair, in hysteria. I have never made a sound like it before, a Shout, almost of raw, emotional agony.

I see red. My mind is blank.

 _KILL THEM ALL._

I don't register anything but the red.

Not even aware I have made the decision, my feet are moving, running towards the place where my eyes had last fallen upon the man I love.

Before I can jump after him, and I don't even know what I'll do, how deep I'll fall, where I'll land because _Marcurio needs me there,_ a heavy weight tackles me onto the ground, landing on my back and pinning my arms to my body as I thrash and curse at my assailant, my vision spinning and tunnelling to only see that edge, every time I blink an echo of Marcurio standing there, surprised, blood pouring down his robes.

 _I can't breathe..!_ But I can't bring myself to care.

"My T- Fjaldi! Fjaldi, you need to calm down!"

A voice penetrates the full-blown panic attack I'd shot into, breaking through the fog clouding my mind with no little difficulty because _it wasn't Marcurio. Where is he? He's hurt, he's hurt, he's hurt..!_

Two weathered old hands firmly grasp the sides of my face, slick with blood as they guide me to look into a familiar face set into a worried frown. "Breathe with me now, Fjaldi. _Breathe._ In… Out…Do as I do… In… Out…"

I struggled, but I followed his orders without question. I couldn't even think clearly for myself.

"That's it boy. Breathe. Just breathe…"

"Erandur." I choke, gasping for air, and then I'm actually choking, spluttering and coughs wrecking my body as I'm brought back to reality – to Fal Zhardum Din, surrounded by Falmer corpses, Lydia, and Erandur.

My Housecarl helps me to sit up, still showing no intention of letting me go. I'm fine with that. For now. I don't think I can already stand.

"…What in Oblivion just happened?" Lydia wheezes perplexedly, wide eyes looking at the scene around us.

Erandur sits down to my left, cross-legged on the floor. His fists are clenched tight, and his gaze is dark, firmly trained on one of the corpses that looks to have partially disintegrated.

"I believe we just witnessed what happens if a dragon panics."

His red eyes turn to me, and I have trouble tearing my own away from the state of the corpses around us, the silence almost deafening, a profound lack of Marcurio's witty comments causing a tense air between us.

"What… did I do..?" It hurts to utter the words, the glass-shard feeling still prominent with every intake of air, and I sit up straighter to rummage around in my knapsack for a healing potion even as Erandur goes back to looking at the bodies.

"One of the archers managed to land a hit on Marcurio, who fell over the edge," the priest of Mara states slowly, warily, as if mentioning it will send me right back into another fit. As it is, I take a shuddering breath and squeeze my eyes shut, tilting my head back briefly in a prayer to Meridia.

"… _And_?"

"When you saw what happened, you flew into a rage, not dissimilar to an Orc going berserk during combat. Only you needed just a few seconds to end the fight. You… roared… At the Falmer, and released a wave of energy of some sort which caused… that. Then you tried to jump after Marcurio, and Lydia prevented you from doing so. We've spent the last twenty minutes getting you back to yourself. We've… Not heard from Marcurio since he fell."

 _Twenty minutes? Twenty?_

 _Twenty whole minutes of time wasted, in which Marcurio could have bled out… No. No he's not dead. He isn't. He can't._

I fight to get back onto my feet, waving Lydia away as she reaches out to steady me with a low, unintended growl, subconsciously baring my teeth. I try to ignore the sharp ' _pang'_ of hurt I feel when she flinches away in fear and take another deep breath in an attempt to ground myself.

It doesn't work.

But that doesn't keep me from pushing on regardless. "I want to go find him." I swallow thickly, resisting the urge to bawl my eyes out like a child. Somehow, miraculously, I manage to continue, even though my voice cracks dangerously. "I really do. But we have to get to the tower. We're wasting time."

" _You're running out of time…"_

I shudder violently, hugging my arms close to my body as I bite my bottom lip until it bleeds. It hurts. It hurts so much. _He can't be gone. Not now._

"We have to keep moving."

Erandur nods sharply. "Indeed. He will probably find us." None of us uttered the fear that clung to our hearts like tar. That he wouldn't find us. That we would never see him again.

"Right." Lydia nods, steering me ahead with a hand on my shoulder. "I think I saw the tower right up ahead. Let's go."

Mulishly, I want to protest. _But I don't want to go._

My wants, however, don't matter down here, and so I trudge ahead miserably, one hand on my axe and the other clenched in a tight fist.

 _I_ _ **will**_ _go find him if he doesn't get to us first. Even if I have to traverse all of Fal Zhardum Din to do it._


	56. Mzark

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Y'all gonna hate me so much for this.**

 **A/N: IMPORTANT NOTICE: Updates might be more sporadic for a while. I'll try to stick to every Monday/Tuesday, but I'm sort of stuck with some writer's block when it comes to this story. I am determined to finish it though, even if it might take longer. Hope you all will stick with me!**

 _ **Last time…**_ _I will go find him if he doesn't get to us first. Even if I have to traverse all of Fal Zhardum Din to do it._

Chapter 56 – Mzark

The tower of Mzark is a welcome sight, despite the heavy, muted atmosphere that hangs thickly between us, the silence a stark reminder of the absence of Marcurio.

It does reach the ceiling, as I had expected it to, but the splendour and the majesty of it all is lost to me as we enter the tower and the heavy golden-coloured doors slam shut with much protest behind Lydia. It effectively cuts us off from the rest of Fal Zhardum Din… and Marcurio, wherever he may be.

Erandur had gone through the trouble of lighting the brazier at the entrance in the hopes that the imperial wizard might be able to recognise the tower if he arrived later.

 _If he arrives at all._

The elevator leads us up, but as the gears grind after many years of disuse it seems like my heart is only sinking lower. What greets us at the top is a relatively large office area – or at least that's what it had been once, judging from the tables and chairs and shelves.

 _What am I thinking? He cannot be dead._

The centre of the place is lowered a bit, and within it… A camp. One that seems long since abandoned. A lone, dusty empty bedroll lies rolled out underneath a broken pipe sending warm, dry steam into the room. On the other side some broken-off rocks have been haphazardly placed to create a makeshift fire pit, the cooking pot empty and rusted.

The entire room appears… dull. Derelict. Dim. Not at all interesting, but a good place to set up camp for the night… if it is night time at all. I have learned to live by the same circadian rhythm as all the others above the surface, depending on the sunlight to create my routines.

 _I lived my entire youth without sunlight or any clear indication of which time it was._

Now it's just disconcerting and disorienting to be unable to tell the time with a glance at the sky _._

It makes me feel disconnected to myself.

I'm tired, but I am not stupid – I won't be able to sleep for a long while yet, no matter how late it might be. Not until I get closure… Not until I see Marcurio. Alive. _Or dead,_ a traitorous voice niggles in the back of my mind, _after all, he was shot in the chest – and who could survive a fall that deep?_

I firmly shove the voice aside, but the effort is in vain. It taunts me, just at the edges of my mind. My fingers cannot stop fidgeting.

 _I'll go mad if I don't DO something._

"I don't suppose either of you feel like having some rest either?" Erandur cuts through my thoughts, and I shake my head alongside Lydia, who grunts something unintelligible.

"We may as well check what's up ahead." My Housecarl adds, already making her way there as she speaks.

For once I have no qualms about following someone else in silence as we ascend up a ramp that has seen better days, right up to a platform that has a striking similarity to what I'd seen in Mzulft – if even more complicated.

I move up the second ramp to check the puzzle there, a neatly arranged row of buttons and what seems to be a receptacle right to the side. I remove the lexicon from my knapsack and put it in the stand even as Lydia leafs through a journal left behind by yet another adventurer that met a sad ending far underground.

Skyrim's mysteries are all discovered over the backs of countless corpses – and that's when you're not even considering the draughr. Adventurer after adventurer sought glory and found death instead, leaving little clues for the next person to find.

 _And Marcurio…_

The first two buttons are easy enough, but I'm not in the mind for games or solving problems, and so I half-heartedly mash the blue knobs over and over again in a randomized pattern.

… Which is, surprisingly, enough to unlock the mechanism. _Strange. I'd at least expected traps for the wrong combination._

It appears that my kin were arrogant enough to think that this room would never be left unattended.

An uneasy tang sits in the back of my mouth. Sour as bile and saturated with a discomforted sensation that burrows its way down into my gut. Something feels very, _very_ off about this.

An intelligent, familiar gaze appears in front of my minds' eye. I can almost _hear_ Marcurio's voice setting about trying to solve whichever puzzle or problem showed up to slow us down.

When I turn my attention back to the room at large, however, I am only met with deafening silence as Lydia and Erandur sit exhausted at two of the stone Dwemer desks down below.

The thoughts of unease fade into the back of my mind, obscured by grey fog as are all my other emotions.

I am drained from the travelling, the battle, and in an attempt to shut away the grief, my mind seems to have reverted to a sort of… emergency setting. Leaving only the necessary means to survive and process information as I see it.

Perhaps it's the shock setting in.

 _Would I be in shock if he… were dead?_

 _Forget it. Marcurio can't be dead._

But I adhere to logic and reason. And they're not telling me that there is much of a chance that he yet lives.

The unfolding spectacle as the final gears start shifting to unfold the container of the Elder Scroll would have sparked my curiosity, the large green jewel would have aroused my inner blacksmith's interest… If it happened at any other moment than right now.

The only reaction I observe in myself is a dull throbbing in my head _. I just want to sleep. I can't bring myself to care for this. Not now. Not when Marcurio is gone, maybe forever._

Apathetically, I move down the ramp to observe the Elder Scroll –

 _Wait._

Something doesn't quite match up.

 _Something is off._

I approach the centre of the room and the green crystal, glowing faintly, casting white light onto its golden restraints.

 _It's all wrong._

I stare, uncomprehending. The silence in the room is louder than any shouting or yelling, more disorienting than the deafening ringing in my ears, clouded in disbelief and fear and _frustration-anger-grief-pain_ because –

 _This cannot be._

 _It cannot be possible._

I draw in a deep breath of stale air, coughing up bile as my eyes tear up. I cannot fully blame the dust for the drops of salty water that stream down my face.

 _Was it all for nothing?_

Because, contrary to all evidence, contrary to all possibilities I'd considered…

The Elder Scroll is _gone._

Mutely, I turn back the way we came, leaving a befuddled, quiet Lydia and Erandur behind as I make my way to the previous room.

I sink to my knees at the camp set up in the indent of the floor. The stones are closing in on me, and contrary to my usual resistance against it, claustrophobia threatens to cut off my lungs and makes my head spin in endless circles as a crushing weight falls onto my shoulders.

I can't do this.

 _I can't do this._

 _What was I thinking? That I'd have an Elder Scroll, return to Paarthurnax, play the hero? That I could make a_ difference _? I made no difference. I will make no difference. The world will be destroyed because I cannot do this. I am no hero. I was never a hero. I'm just a blacksmith and a fool._

 _Skyrim needs a hero and I failed them all._

 _I can do NOTHING without that Scroll._

 _I am NOTHING without… I am…_

 _I…_

My breathing is ragged. Blood drips down my palms and onto the floor as my nails dig crescent marks in my palms. I don't notice any of it.

 _There are gods out there. I know it for I have seen it now. But I am of Mer descent. Not Man. And the Nords don't like elves. It's obvious their gods wouldn't like them any better._

 _Their gods have forsaken me._

 _I am not a hero._

 _I never was._

Sharply, I drag my bag towards my chest. I open the flap and search around in it mechanically, taking out potions, a half-depleted water skin and food and setting it next to the abandoned bedroll.

 _But I have to endure for the others that rely on me. My next priority is to help Vulthuryol, here in Fal Zhardum Din. And these supplies… I will not return to this tower. Not after this. But…_

 _Should Marcurio be alive… Should the gods have had mercy on him… Then he will be able to use these._

 _He IS still of Men, after all._

I scrape myself together as much as I can, failing miserably at doing so, and return to where Lydia and Erandur had been left to wait. Still-wet stains mar my cheeks, but I've wiped all emotions away from both my face and heart. All that's left is an empty, cold sensation that settles uncomfortably tense in my stomach and lies as a heavy weight on my shoulders.

My voice comes out in a monotone, and I carefully form the vowels and consonants that roll over my tongue to not give away any turmoil I might be experiencing.

I feel as if I am trapped in Sithis' cold embrace.

"Lydia. It is time for us to part ways. Return to Whiterun safely and take care of yourself. Keep the weapons I had you carry this far and sell them – do with the money what you will. Erandur." A momentary pause as I see the Dunmer priest fiddle with the now glowing blue lexicon.

 _Ah. It worked. The Woodland Man will be pleased. Not that it matters much._

"Take that to Septimus Signus for me, if you would? Be careful with Hermaeus Mora, he's with him. Perhaps ask Lydia if she may accompany you to the lockbox – Urag in Winterhold will give you directions if she has no wish to. I am afraid that what I must do now I am better off doing alone."

"Mara guide your steps, friend." I give the elf a smile that comes out more feeble than I'd intended.

"As you order, my Thane… Please, do be careful."

And then, with the screeching of the elevator still echoing through the chambers, I am left alone in the Tower of Mzark, a place that many a Dwemer would have given an arm and a leg to visit. I would give aforementioned limbs for the chance to forget I ever came, and that I never needed to be here at all.

 _Maybe Vulthuryol can tell me where the fuck that Scroll is._

I'm grasping at straws and clinging to them desperately, because I have no clue as to where I'd even begin to search if this entire endeavour turns out to have been fruitless. Useless. A waste of the time I don't have.

A sigh passes my lips, my gaze hooded as the cold sensation in my core spreads. I am sick and tired of the frustration and the anger and the whirlwind of emotions I am put through on a daily basis. I've had enough.

I either lock away that part of me or succumb to it.

And succumbing means failure. My inability to endure.

A small part of me, sequestered away in a tiny corner of my mind that hasn't given up on ever becoming someone my mother would've been proud to call 'son' calls out that I cannot give in like this.

Endurance. Endurance in the face of danger.

I'm proud of my Dwemer heritage, and ma would not have wanted me to surrender _this_ part of my identity. I have sacrificed enough of the things that make _me_ out of sheer necessity. I have been cordial with thieves, I've lied, stolen, murdered people for the money and for the simple fact that they were in my way… But I've never been this close to quitting.

 _Marcurio might be dead. There's no Elder Scroll and, really, what can Vulthuryol do? Alduin is going to be impossible to beat at the pace I'm forced to take getting to him…_

 _I should… I should just give up._

 _Succumb to it._

 _After all… I've already failed._

 **A/N: AAAAND we're stopping here. On a cliffhanger and the lowest point of the fic (or is it..?) Told you you'd hate me. R &R what you think of my plot twist… I've never seen it done before and figured it would do well in derailing the main quest.**


	57. Bo Ko Kun

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Dragon language, flashbacks.**

 **A/N: Not entirely happy with this chapter, but it's the best I've got.**

 _ **Last time…**_ _Marcurio might be dead. There's no Elder Scroll and, really, what can Vulthuryol do? Alduin is going to be impossible to beat at the pace I'm forced to take getting to him… I should… I should just give up._

Chapter 57 – Bo Ko Kun

Shifting until I am seated on the floor again, cross-legged this time, I think back to the one time I had a conversation with someone about anything like this.

The concept of 'giving up'.

 _It had been Onmund, actually, with all that he's grown in the position of Archmage… he was still a kid when we had just set out to the ruins of Labyrinthian. The memories of the road there bring up a pleasant sort of melancholy. Things were still so beautifully uncomplicated, then._

Do not get me wrong, I enjoy a challenge, like any other of my kin, but the current situation is not one I would have dared think up even in my worst nightmares. It's… Fucked up, beyond all repair. Not a challenge to overcome as much as an uphill struggle against a roaring avalanche.

If there's any 'going uphill' at this point at all anymore.

But. The road to Labyrinthian. We'd been shrouded in darkness, only a campfire casting dancing shadows onto the surroundings and the moons obscured by clouds as we all huddled close in the cold.

Onmund and I had been on watch…

" _Fjaldi?" I glance up from where I'm huddled as close to the fire as I can get without burning my fingers, the pleasant heat barely capable of chasing away the icy cold Skyrim night._

" _What is it?" The question comes out a little gruffer than intended, since I'm running on too little sleep and am quite cranky because of it. I make sure to add on a pleasant smile so as not to spook the boy – because that's what he is, compared to me, even though our ages are similar._

 _He shifts closer to me, voice hushed and careful as if scared Marcurio will overhear and taunt him for it, even though the mage is sleeping deeply several feet away, exhausted from the day's travels._

" _How do you do it?" A lazy blink as I shift as well, getting more comfortable._

" _Do what?"_

" _You know…" He trails off, fumbling with his hands and mouth moving without words, eyes wide in askance as if his question was perfectly clear. Too bad for him that I had no idea what he meant – it could have been any odd ability._

" _You don't give up. I saw you, in Mzulft, and you definitely shouldn't have been walking at all after what those, those Falmer did to you. But you never hesitated. And at the College, when you were so tired and hurt, you still fought. And then with… Whatever happened in that tower that made Erandur come along with us. You… You never gave up. I would have wanted to sleep for weeks, like J'zargo, if I had taken half the hits you did. You weren't scared at all! You just… Kept going."_

 _It sounds awed, borderline hero-worshipping, and I'm determined to put a stop to it before the blonde gets any silly notions in his head about me. Or, Void forbid, that he places me on some pedestal._

" _Trust me when I say that I wanted to go to bed the moment we stepped out of Mzulft. I wanted to run at the sight of those magical anomalies. I wanted to go on holiday for a year when I faced down a Daedra in Nightcaller temple. I was terrified. I still am. I don't know what we'll have to deal with next." I reply dryly, poking the flames to keep them going as Onmund turns the words over in his head._

" _But you didn't want to give up?"_

 _At the question, the branch in my hand twitches, sending embers onto the stones around it and making the inexperienced mage twitch back as if he cannot command ice at his leisure._

" _Of course the thought crossed my mind. I am not infallible or some fairy-tale hero. I fear and flee as much as any of you, Dwemer or not. I just… Was taught differently, I suppose. My people endure like the stone we shape. It's almost a creed."_

 _Again, the Nord thinks about it. Not because he doesn't understand it – oh no, I am quite sure that he is rather intelligent for his age and race, but because he wants to ponder, philosophise, find out how this information aligns with what he knows._

" _I thought about giving up too. Many times. Before we even entered Mzulft, I -" he swallows thickly, "I wanted to run away and not look back. I only stayed because J'zargo would have been insufferable about it and, well, Marcurio and you seemed reliable."_

 _A disbelieving, self-depreciating smirk pulls at my lips before I can help myself._

" _Reliable?"_

" _Well, yeah. You never even seemed to think about giving up on anything, always steadfast like a stone… How do you do that when you're scared?"_

 _I grunt softly, leaning back to look at the stars, happy for the lack of rain or snow tonight. "My mother."_

" _Your… mother?" He asks hesitantly after no more words are forthcoming. I snicker at his eyes, so full of interest at the suspense._

" _Aye. My mother. She taught me everything I needed to know. Dwemer… well, we're accustomed to situations that inspire fear. We've fought many wars, and not won all of them, not by a long shot. We still pushed on, unyielding as mountains. It's… pretty much what defined us, on a more base level than our technological and mental advancements. Dwemer endured. We always did. It's how we survived. It's how we were."_

 _I pause as I think on how best to phrase the next part._

" _Though even mountains crumble in the face of time and circumstance. My ma… I have done many things she wouldn't be proud of." I admit, a little sourly, ignoring the sharp intake of breath besides me because acting outside of parental approval in Skyrim is apparently a moral offense._

" _So whenever I want to give up, I think of her. I mean… At least then, there would be one thing, just one, that she'd smile at me for. That would make her proud of me. I find that it helps."_

 _Onmund is silent for a long time. "That thinking of the people you love helps you to endure?"_

"… _If that is how you wish to interpret it."_

 _Blue eyes glance in the direction of Winterhold as I lazily scan the edges of the small camp for threats._

"… _I understand."_

 _Until dawn, the only sound to break the comfortable silence is Erandur 's sawmill-like snoring._

I blink again as the world around me comes back into focus, and I clench my fists to get the stiffness out. I am still alone, and I am still… grieving, for the lack of a better word, but at least now I have a reminder of why I can't just give up on everything.

'My mother would be sorely disappointed' is the reason it was back then.

'My loved ones would be sorely disappointed' is as good a reason as any to stop myself from moping and push through until I can find a more suitable time and place to collapse back into that grey fog that is only now, barely, lifting from my mind.

With a small sigh, I rise to my feet, a bit unsteady but at least no longer seconds away from quitting. _I have to find that blasted dragon and get him to help me. Marcurio or no Marcurio._

I… I can at least make up for losing him by saving others… I think.

Once outside, it isn't long before I find Vulthuryol in all his black-scaled splendour.

Or, rather, Vulthuryol finds _me_ , landing with a powerful beat of his spider-veined wings at the end of the bridge I have to cross to walk further into Blackreach.

" **I told you to find me,** **Goraan Dovahkiin.** "

I open my mouth hesitantly, only to snap it shut at the dragon's low growl. I was ill-equipped to deal with a fight right now, especially if it came from the only link to the missing Elder Scroll I had left at all.

"I'm… sorry."

" **Rot** **like those are for the weak. Why do you not speak your language now,** **Tumgol?** "

It takes a frustratingly long time to come up with the right words – it has been so long since I last spoke my language, I must at the very least have gained some ridiculous Common accent. " **I did not know where to even start looking. Fal Zhardum Din is enormous.** "

The dragon inclines its head. " **Geh.** **It is large. Has no** **Dov** **told you of the power of names,** **Dov Fus Bel?** **A true** **Dovah** **will always answer a challenge of its name. Call it,** **Dovahkiin** **. Call the name you know me by!** "

He advances across the bridge, and my only option out is to risk jumping to the toxic waters below. I have no choice. _I must call out his name then, if he wants it so badly._

A deep breath.

"VULTHURYOL!"

I am answered with a roar, loud enough to shake the stone foundations we are both balancing on, the water rippling outwards and I can't supress a shiver at the sheer power emanating from the primal sound the dark-scaled dragon makes.

In the cry, however, I also hear something that goes deeper than mere sound – something heavy that makes my breath lock in my throat and pulls at my bones, my heart, my very being:

" **YSMIR!** "

The dragon grins. " **Ah,** **Pruzah.** **You know** **Hon,** **to listen. I had nearly thought you were incapable.** **Mu Loost Tiid Mal,** **we have little time.** "

I nod slowly, remembering what he called out to me, and what happened back in Nchuand-Zel: " **You said we were running out of time. Why?** "

Teeth, sharp and lethal, are bared even as the dragon shifts backwards to look at the burning, fake sun in the centre of the caverns, looming over city ruins and giant mushrooms alike. He appears to be deep in contemplation when he finally answers me:

" **The end of** _ **Tiid Kel**_ **is afoot. It will be destroyed before the Firstborn rises – but it will have sat here all along. It will be left abandoned through itself, but it will have been found long before yet after it was lost.** "

 _What in Nirn is he talking about?_

Eyes, pupils like slits and as deep and endless as the darkness lurking on the edges of Fal Zhardum Din, meet mine.

" **I cannot abandon my post.** **Zu'u Los Deinmaar Tum-Qethsegol** **.** **I am protector of Fal Zhardum Din, and without my presence, the Fallen Elves will take the** **Kel.** "

"But the Elder Scroll isn't even _here_!" I bark out angrily before I can keep my tongue in check, the frustration that has plagued me for days bubbling back to the surface now that the initial moments of shock and awe have passed at seeing the creature from my dreams in front of me.

An inscrutable look.

" **Fun Hi Miiraad. I told you of the path.** **I have** **Sul Miin –** **I can see Miiraad, the flow of Time, clearer than my** **Fron** **, or my kin. I see what will come to be. But you must ensure it comes,** **Dovahkiin.** **My visions tell me of a place of secret** **Tumgol** **scholars, hidden in mountains.** _ **Kagrenzel**_ **. Find it.** **Bo Ko Kun.** "

It's… harder to follow along with Vulthuryol than it is with Paarthurnax. He speaks in a downright archaic form of Dwemeris, using words and turns of phrase that I have to dredge up from the deepest recesses of my mind – and I am not so fluent in Dovahzul that I can tell exactly what everything means.

 _Or if it's just Dwemeris so ancient I don't know it either way._

From what I can catch, he means for me to follow along a path that he told me about, perhaps he referred to the nonsense of ' _abandoned-through-itself_ ' something blah-blah. He can also… see into the future? Or the past? Or time in general. It's hard to tell. I _do_ understand that there is a secret research facility hidden away somewhere which holds the actual Elder Scroll.

 _Septimus lied. I should have suspected._

I have, however, no clue as to what ' **Bo Ko Kun** ' is supposed to mean.

And I've never once in my life heard of any "Kagrenzel".

"… **Right.** " I end up muttering, frowning in confusion. Perhaps if Marcurio was he we could-

 _Marcurio isn't here._

A pause in my mind.

 _He's probably whining about wet clothing somewhere down by the water right now._

I breathe again.

That… That is something I can worry about later. When I do not have an ancient and powerful dragon breathing down my neck.

 _It's not healthy, but I don't care._

" **So I must find the facility and retrieve the Scroll there. And… what then?"**

Vulthuryol grins sharply, spreading his wings.

" **Return to where you called my name before you run out of time.** **Daal Nau Tiid, Tumgol Dovahkiin.** **Ruz** _ **Zaan**_ **."**

Wings beat, the dust whipping up around me as I duck down, holding my bracers in front of my face and squeezing my eyes shut against being blinded.

By the time I reopen my eyes, the fire-breathing haunter of my dreams is long gone. I take a shuddering breath as I let his final words sink in:

" _Return here on time, Dwemer Dragonborn. Then you must_ Shout _._ "

… _I'm getting really tired of all these puzzles and riddles._

For now, I will have to search for a secret Dwemer research facility that was likely kept from even other Dwemer. I had to do that, on a deadline, while also getting to terms with Marcurio and upholding my other numerous obligations to Sithis and Elisif, and fulfilling my promise to Paarthurnax.

I turn sharply on my heel and stomp back towards the double doors of the Tower of Mzark.

 _Ugh, I think I'll start my search in Falkreath so I can drop by the Dark Brotherhood._ Someone _is going to be killed to curb my temper and lighten my frustration, so I might as well be paid for it while I'm at it._

I step back onto the surface of Skyrim to find that Lydia and Erandur have long since left, probably to avoid the snowstorm that was now hitting me in the face before I even left the relatively sheltered, barred exit platform.

 _Well isn't this just fucking_ fantastic _?_

At least I have something to chase after again. It's better than being left to my thoughts all by myself.

My thoughts are a more dangerous place to be than this shitty, ice-cold, lethal, biting snowstorm could ever dream to be.

 **A/N: If you must know, google the words you don't recognize on Thu-um. org which I use for pretty much all my Dovahzul. I did include some translations here, though:**

 **Goraan Dovahkiin:** Young Dragonborn

 **Rot:** Word

 **Tumgol:** Dwemer

 **Geh:** Yes

 **Dov Fus Bel: "** Dragon Force Summon **"**

 **Pruzah:** Good/well/fitting

 **Hon:** Listen

 **Mu Loost Tiid Mal:** We possess little time.

 **Tum-Qethsegol:** Blackreach in Dovahzul

 **Fun Hi Miiraad:** I tell you/ I told you of the path. (Literally: Tell You Pathway.)

 **Sul Miin:** Time Eye

 **Bo Ko Kun:** Multiple translations possible. Fly/move/come within/during/with the Light/rightness/right path. I take it to mean "Fly along the right path".


	58. Entry Number So And So

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Fragmented and intentionally a little confusing and all over the place. Experimental writing style.**

 **A/N: IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: Next few chapters (2 or 3) will be in flashback and journal format! I'll be covering several months fast that way, sticking to the interesting bits… and foreshadowing some things you may pick up on later.**

 **I also have good and bad news.**

 **Good news: After a few months of not really being able to get back into Skyrim due to having lost literally every save I ever made (some of you might remember that) I downloaded some new mods and have been able to regain enthusiasm for the game!**

 **Bad news: I have been playing so much that I haven't been writing as much. This has set my schedule back more than expected, so updates WILL become slower/less regular.**

 _ **Last time…**_ _My thoughts are a more dangerous place to be than this shitty, ice-cold, lethal, biting snowstorm could ever dream to be._

Chapter 58 – Entry Number So-And-So

Life passes me by fast, as if I am captured in a bubble within which time stands still.

It passes by _too_ fast.

An entire week flies by in which I mostly sulk and murder. I take two Dark Brotherhood contracts and not one, but several bounties, running myself into the ground without as much as _considering_ the risks or my exhausted condition.

After a near-miss with a surprise encounter with an apprentice Necromancer – an opponent I normally end within moments – I decide to take a step back and re-evaluate my own behaviour.

The brief moment of clarity allows me to regain a semblance of rational thought. I turn back to Whiterun from the road I'd walked on for several hours, leaving the bounty I'd been headed towards for another time. Taking a page out of Ondolemar's book, I decide to buy a blank notebook.

Keep track of my activities in order to regain some sense of what I'm doing.

By keeping what some of the more irritating Nords would call a 'diary', or journal, as I prefer it. Written in Dwemeris, of course. I am not about to take undue risk, especially with the type of… 'adventures' I get myself into on a daily basis.

 _That seems like it was ages ago. I still remember Lydia's face when she tried to read over my shoulder. Priceless._

I flip the pages absently, recalling some of the more memorable events of the past months that had me end up sitting at the Bee 'n Barb in Riften, waiting for Brynjolf to show up in order to discuss the latest news of Skyrim's underworld. My eyes come to rest on one of the more interesting entries.

 _Ah, now_ there _is a day that did not go as I anticipated. The one that got the ball rolling and unleashed hell upon the organised crime all over Tamriel. Not that I quite regret causing it._

 **~ 21** **st** **of Frostfall E201. Falkreath, Sanctuary. ~**

 **Today, Cicero proved once and for all that he's one of Sheogorath's. A madman, that is. He attacked Veezara whilst I was speaking with Nazir, coincidentally about the madman's odd and tense behaviour as of late. I sense that Nazir is rather smug about having been proven right about his opinions on the jester from the other side of the room - he is staring at me over the brim of his cup.**

 **I feel I should explain what happened in more detail:**

 **Nazir took me aside after training to talk about Cicero and the Night Mother. He is an excellent, if harsh trainer and I feel like my One-Handed skills with axes and swords have increased greatly. He has a morbid but dry sense of humour and sharp wit – I feel we will get along well in the future. His training is also** _ **expensive as all Oblivion**_ **, and he won't be giving discounts any time soon. The asshole.**

 **But I digress.**

 **Apparently, the jester has been talking to the Night Mother's coffin as if holding a conversation. However, the Night Mother does not reply to him as he is not the Listener.**

 **The stranger thing, in my opinion, is that Astrid has gotten the absolutely insane idea that Cicero is planning to betray her and the rest of the family – and that he talks to the 'traitor' in the Night Mother's chamber since it's not very frequented. Babette, Nazir and I all agree that it's a stupid idea and that the paranoia is getting to her head.**

 **The only thing that DID happen was that Cicero lost whatever grip on sanity he had, attacked a Brother, and ran off for the Dawnstar Sanctuary.**

 **Arnbjorn went werewolf on us and gave chase, but now Astrid is keeping the rest of us in the Sanctuary for the next few days until we get news of Cicero's death. She expects it by the end of the week. Until then, I'm stuck here. It will probably be a good opportunity to get to know my family better.**

 **In other news, I have been hearing whispers from the direction of the Night Mother's chamber again. Tomorrow, I will go there to see if it makes any sort of sense that I only seem to hear voices in that place, specifically. I hope Nazir was not right about whatever he thought it was when I mentioned it.**

 **His head is inflated enough as it is with the whole Cicero-situation.**

Aye. That was the start of it all. Cicero's attack, Veezara's injuries and my endless curiosity rearing its head.

I flip the page to the end of that week.

 **~23** **rd** **of Frostfall E201. Falkreath, Sanctuary. ~**

 **The Night Mother Spoke to me.**

 **The** _ **Night Mother**_ **Spoke to me.**

 **The Night Mother** _ **Spoke**_ **to** _ **ME!**_

 **Why? Why have I been chosen to be the representative of death and the Dread Father? I want nothing to do with it! After** **Marcurio –** **after Blackreach I have never been less hesitant in killing, but to be Listener is to have a far more intimate connection to the Void!**

" _ **Darkness Rises When Silence Dies.**_ **" The Words are engraved in my brain. And Cicero is the only one who can help me. How ironic, as he is gone.**

 **I'm practically climbing the walls – even Veezara has picked up on my anxiousness, and he's severely ill with fever from whichever poison Cicero coats his daggers with. Babette is the only reason he will live. On another note, I will be taking his assignment until he's healed: we are killing the Emperor, apparently.**

 **Empires will always rise and fall. I cannot say I have any particular sense of affection for this one.**

 **Thank the gods that Nazir has taken pity on me. He has given me a contract to kill "Hern", a vampire here in Falkreath posing as human. It's close enough to the Sanctuary for Astrid to give me permission to leave. She is acting… Peculiar. Paranoid and shifty. It makes me uneasy to see her act like that among family.**

 **Either way, both she and Nazir warned me to be cautious against vampires. If only they knew of Morthal.**

I had been so panicked. Like a troubled child. I am glad that mother has since seen to it that I've been set straight. I will never in this life doubt her judgement again. Quickly, I glance up and around, only to see that Brynjolf hasn't arrived yet. There must be Guild business holding him up.

I order another bottle of wine before skipping ahead to my meeting with Cicero.

 **~ 1** **st** **of Sun's Dusk E201. Falkreath, Sanctuary. ~**

 **I made it to Dawnstar Sanctuary today.**

I close my eyes and let myself remember.

… … …

"You caught me! I… Surrender, ha, ha…ha." The jester spits a glob of blood onto the already stained floor of the torture room as I stare down at him, one axe drawn and dangling loosely from my fingertips.

Cicero curls up tighter, attempting to keep his injuries from reopening too much. It's a miracle he hasn't died already, with the amount of blood he has lost. He shifts, miserably, and clearly about to lose consciousness. He would probably not have been awake at all if one of the damn spectral guards of this place hadn't made me crash into a wall.

"…How are you _not dead_ from all that?" I blurt out incredulously.

No reply, just a ragged cough. I curse under my breath and approach him carefully. Time to play the game as I hope he can handle playing it.

 _The man has acted like a wild dog before. Perhaps if he is treated that way – like an injured animal, I can approach without invoking his rage._

 _I just have to tell him what he wants to hear._

I resolutely ignore the fearful pounding of my heart as I approach.

"Cicero, dear Cicero, come, let me look at those wounds of yours." I croon, as if calming a small child or injured, feral animal. I sheathe my axe and pull out a healing potion instead, keeping both arms in full view for the dilated pupils of the imperial assassin's eyes.

They go wide at the sight of the modest red bottle.

I kneel down next to him, muttering soothingly under my breath all the way.

"Why- Cicero does not understand? You are hers. Not the Night Mothers, not sweet, sweet mother's, no. No. You are with the pretender. With Astrid, falsities and Lies, Lies, Lies!" He cries out, trying to attack me with the knife held in a white-knuckled, bloodied grip.

He's slow and lethargic, however, and I easily push the offending arm aside.

"Quiet, Keeper mine. Drink this. Let me help you…"

Surprisingly, the jester concedes, letting me place the phial against his lips. He downs it greedily.

"Poisons, yes, yes! You would poison sweet Cicero! It matters not – Sithis will judge us all." He mutters near-incomprehensibly, his eyes rapidly flickering around the room as if taking in the mossy stone, the shackles and the skeletons for the first time.

After a few seconds, he stills.

"…It's not poison..?"

"No, Cicero." I reply, still soft, still gentle, cradling the madman's head like a mother or older sibling would to soothe a baby's cries. "I would make for a sorry excise of a Listener if I let mother's Keeper die."

Dark, too dark eyes turn to me and sharpen through the agony he must surely still be in.

"Listener..? The Listener knows the Words… yes, yes, the words in the Keeper's books, the words Cicero has so longed to hear..? But it's lies, all lies, and Astrid, the fake-star set you up to this!"

 _They're engraved on the inside of my skull, before my retina, across my soul. How could I_ not _know those damning words?_

Cicero is working himself up into an angry rant, helped along by the Healing Potion, and I vaguely wonder if he's always been this easy to read before.

"And she will come and ruin it! Ruin it all like she ruined the sanctity of the family, ruined the minds of the family, ruined -"

My voice cuts through the muttering like a dagger cuts through the thin skin of a rabbit, sending its deepest guts spilling out into the light of day.

" _Darkness Rises when Silence Dies_."

He stills. Makes a small sound, a whimper of disbelief.

Then he reaches up quickly, but awkwardly, and draws me into a hug like a chokehold, so tightly do his bony arms wrap around my neck like the pincers of a Mudcrab fastening themselves into prey.

" _My Listener._ Mother _heard_ Cicero _._ " And he breaks down sobbing when I merely hand him a second Healing Potion, running my fingers through his hair, so red that you can't see the difference between the greasy strands and the blood still entangled in it.

He shows no sign of letting go anytime soon.

"It will be okay. You just rest. Rest, dear Cicero." He only clutches me harder.

 _He really does feel like a little brother_ , I wonder in reluctant awe, as I hold him back just as tightly. _Perhaps the Night Mother helped me to see him in such a way?_

… … …

The rumbling of the Bee 'n Barb shifts back into focus as I fight down the small grin. "Dear Cicero", indeed. It has become more of an endearment than a way to calm him down, now. And I am his "Dear Listener" in return.

I quickly flip through some more pages of my journal, ignoring the slowly gathering crowd as dinnertime approaches. A series of shorter journal entries follow the meeting with Cicero. Most of my days were spend travelling.

And after the meeting, I'll go right back to that wandering existence.

 **~ 3** **rd** **of Sun's Dusk E201. The Pale, Nightgate Inn. ~**

 **I killed the Gourmet. Thalmor have attacked me for the second time in this week alone. It is starting to become concerning – I am in Stormcloak territory, after all.**

… … …

 **~ 16** **th** **of Sun's Dusk E201. High Hrothgar. ~**

 **Meditated and debated with Paarthurnax. I wonder where my soul goes after death if I promise it to multiple deities? The high priest in Solitude whom Elisif pointed me to could not help either.**

 **Will I even see Marcurio after I die?**

 **If not, what is the use of dying? Perhaps Necromancers are not so wrong in searching for a way to live forever. But not matter if I do figure out the secret to immortality - I will spend eternity being lonely regardless if he is not there.**

… … …

 **~ 17** **th** **of Sun's Dusk E201. The Rift, Bthalft. ~**

 **Bthalft is a dead end.**

 **I have to find Kagrenzel but damnit, where do I look?**

… … …

 **~ 21** **st** **of Sun's Dusk E201. Falkreath, Sanctuary. ~**

 **Back in Falkreath as of today. Veezara has the Rite of Passage for his next stunt. I hope he is recovered enough to escape the Emperor's guards after administering the poison.**

 **I am to go to Devlin in Riften's Thieves Guild whilst he is out to end an Empire. I'm almost jealous.**

… … …

 **~ 26** **th** **of Sun's Dusk E201. Riften, Thieves Guild. ~**

 **I am no longer jealous of Veezara. My simple errand has been upgraded. Etienne caught me as I was about to leave and took me to the Cistern to meet with Brynjolf and a zealous Dunmer woman called 'Karliah'. As I helped Etienne before and he knows of my skill, he has asked my help in infiltrating Mercer's house with him. Mercer has apparently betrayed the Guild.**

 **Brynjolf did not much like involving me in "Guild Business", but Etienne is not their newest rising prodigy for nothing. I did tell him I could not help without Astrid's approval.**

 **Of course, Astrid somehow already found out and send a letter of approval ahead.**

 **As such, I will join Etienne as backup. Thieving prodigy he may be, his fighting skill leaves much to be desired. I am glad I am not officially part of the Thieves Guild. At least in the Dark Brotherhood, we do not betray the ones we call 'family'.**

…Sithis, I had been so painfully naïve and unaware. Then again, we all were. Slowly, almost pained, I turn to the relevant page:

 **~ 30** **th** **of Sun's Dusk E201.** **Falkreath, Hunter's Rest. ~**

 **Veezara. Gabriella.** **Arnbjorn. Festus.**

 **Astrid… Why did you do this to us?** __

I briefly close my eyes against the influx of tears threatening to spill. I had to remind myself of who I still had: Nazir, who survived and dragged the Night Mother's coffin out of the rubble with me. Babette, who'd been gathering alchemy ingredients and came running when the explosions started. Cicero, hiding up in Dawnstar, waiting for us to come 'home'.

And then there was that "vote"…

… … …

 **~ 4** **th** **of Evening Star E201. The Pale, Dawnstar Sanctuary. ~**

"We need a leader." Dawnguard Sanctuary is colder than Falkreath, but the fires are lit and the heavy stone and earth shut out most of the ice and snow from outside, as long as we stick to the inner rooms.

I lounge on one of the only two available chairs, leaning back against the protesting wood. Nazir has taken the other chair, and Babette has dragged over an old supply chest. Cicero is perched on the edge of the table, his feet planted firmly on my lap as my own boots rest on the wood next to his hip.

"Why? You want to have the honours?" I question dryly, watching the man drag a hand down his beard as Cicero snickers.

"Nah, I'm horrible at ordering people around."

"Your training methods say otherwise." Babette quips without missing a beat, sending another bout of chuckles throughout our tiny little family.

"I was thinking." The Redguard continues slowly. "It's actually fairly obvious. I'm not suited to leadership, and Babette, dear girl, you'd have us all poisoned in a week."

Said vampire un-child shrugs without regret or shame. "Well, Cicero has to watch the Night Mother, so that leaves only one option."

I'm already starting to shake my head when Cicero cackles loudly. "Yes, yes! Cicero agrees who it should be!"

Nazir smirks at me. "Listen, Fjaldi, just take the damn position – you've earned it. You're the reason at least two of the people in this room are still alive. I'll keep handling the day to day stuff for you, since your other responsibilities eat up a lot of time. What matters is if when we want recruits, we'll need something to convince them joining is a good idea: We have a Keeper. I won't say no to being Speaker. But what we _need_ is to find ourselves a Listener."

My chair falls over, sending me sprawling onto the ground as Cicero bursts out in laughter and starts to do his little dancing jig from where he's sitting, making the table groan in protest.

"Ah! But we do, we do, we do! Mother has made her pick! Mother is very picky but she is never wrong, oh no! She never is! Not when picking a Listener, my Listener, sweet, dear Listener! Aren't I right?" He bursts into high-pitched laughter.

Nazir merely gives me a Look and I rub the back of my neck sheepishly.

"Well. About that. I'm. Sort of. You were right, Nazir. As usual. The Night Mother said… I'm the Listener. So. Yeah. We don't need to find one."

A pause.

"And we have not yet failed everything. The Night Mother Spoke to me when we first arrived here: The contract to kill the Emperor is still on."

Shark-like grins form on the faces of the assassins around the table, including my own when I notice that the fires in their eyes have rekindled.

"There is hope?" Nazir asks.

"There is hope." I confirm solemnly, and for the first time since the truth about Astrid came to light, he laughs.


	59. To Kill an Empire

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Time skip, assassinations, FAN THEORIES PUT INTO PRACTICE.**

 _ **Last time…**_ " _There is hope?" Nazir asks. "There is hope." I confirm solemnly, and he laughs._

Chapter 59 – To Kill an Empire

 _Ah, Nazir. A good friend, and one I am proud to call brother. Babette has also grown on me, with all her little quirks. She's terrifying. She's tamed the_ Frost Troll _hiding in the iced-over tunnels. She's my terrifying Sister, though. Family. I would take a knife for any of them without hesitation._

My lips curl before I let out a forlorn sigh. Brynjolf is really making me wait. I wonder what sort of emergency came up that would take him until dinner. Maybe I'll go down to the Cistern myself and spare him the trouble of sending a runner.

 _Speaking of dinner though…_

I grin at Keerava when she waltzes over with a grin on her face, her new ring sparkling under the low lights.

"Anything I can get my favorite customer?" She purrs, and I glance over at the empty table in front of me, comparing it to the food-laden wonders of other patrons.

"Could you get me another drink and two of whatever's on the menu tonight?"

"Have a fancy date?" I let out an undignified snort.

"Oblivion, no. I'm going to eat both servings. I must say, your meals have risen in their quality as of late. I cannot pass up the chance of one."

She grins and puts a claw in front of her lips. "Ah, but the how's a secret! Two specials and a bottle of wine, coming right up!"

I wave after her and return to the worn pages and ink in front of me, tracing the date of yet another interesting occasion. No, I had not been idle in the last three months, not at all.

 **~ 7** **th** **of Evening Star E201. The Pale, Irkngthand. ~**

 **Today, I followed Karliah, Brynjolf and Etienne into Irkngthand. To summarize a long, arduous journey: they were glad to have me and my experience with Dwemer ruins along. Mercer now lies dead and bloating underwater, mere meters away from his ultimate goal. It is justice in its most ironic sense.**

 **I have been jokingly named an honorary member of the Nightingales. Never will I swear myself to Nocturnal, but I do not mind them including me as their confidante. After what I have seen, Etienne figured I deserved to be included.**

 **Brynjolf, once again, did not agree. He strikes me as a private man. If I get called 'lad' one more time I am chucking him into the sewer water with no regrets. Karliah did not mind as much as she could preach to me about Nocturnal. I have left them to deal with the Skeleton Key themselves. It would not do to draw unwanted attention from the trio's patron.**

Killing Mercer had been weirdly _fun_ , in a sense. Running around a giant Snowmer statue whilst playing "spot the air distortions" had been great entertainment until I caught him in the neck when he tried to get the jump on Etienne. I also had no personal grudge against him, so I could focus on the hunt whereas the others had to first get past their own hesitation.

I understood them, though. I had to kill Astrid, in the end. Which is also why I am here. Now that the dust has settled in both our guilds, we must review our agreements. The negotiations aren't actually going to take place here, but in the Cistern. The Bee 'n Barb is only the designated meeting spot.

Not that there are any guild members here right now.

Absently, I flip some more pages. Ah, there's my meeting with Amaund Motierre to tell him the contract was still on – _amusing little man, that, almost a pity he's dead_ – and my reports to Elisif, which had gradually come to include more holds and people over the past months of travelling. I even made note of all the Thalmor attacks in Stormcloak territory.

By now, I make frequent stops at every hold in which I am Thane, and even in the ones where I am not in any political position but still more and more well-known on the streets. People are familiar with me. They come to me for their problems and I sometimes see them solved rather smoothly.

Except for the one incident at Markarth where I got to put my new assassination skills to good use after being unjustly thrown into jail. Calcelmo had thrown a _massive_ fit in front of the jarl's court afterwards, and Erik and Eola even dropped by to see if someone needed to 'disappear' for their slight against my person.

The two cannibals had happily married each other, which had been… surprising.

 _That must have been some wedding banquet, now that I think of it._

Abruptly, I cease flicking pages as my eyes come to a halt on New Year's Eve.

I had really gone into the New Year with a splash. Gods, it was actually very enlightening. It's a good thing I never joined the Imperials – that would have been extremely awkward, otherwise.

… … …

 **~ 31** **st** **of Evening Star E201. Solitude, Harbor. ~**

 **Tonight, I will end an Empire. Failure is not an option.**

The water is freezing as it laps at my body, attempting to drag me to its depths in the late evening hours. Behind me and above me, Solitude is celebrating, and I can still vaguely hear the music and laughter from the citizens celebrating the last day of the year.

A string of flags, colorful pieces of square fabric, has blown over the city walls and ended up in the water not too far away, and I know the docks to be deserted but for a lone imperial corpse.

Not that I'm anywhere near solid land anymore, what with taking a nightly swim in the Sea of Ghosts, heading straight for the Katariah with a series of potions in my belt, knives on my hips, and my dark brotherhood cowl covering my face from the eyes down.

The skin-tight light armor is more suited to treading water than my usual gear, and I felt that, after all those Penitus Oculatus bastards did to the Dark Brotherhood, they had to know _exactly_ who came for them tonight.

Approaching the ship, I down a Draught of Waterbreathing before going under, the deep green water making it nearly impossible to even see the silhouette of the giant ship that houses the Emperor if not for the moonlight filtering through the waves.

The anchor chain is easily found – climbing into the ship alongside it is not as easy as I had anticipated, however. The heavy chain, with big enough hoops to put my hand through, is covered in algae, rust, barnacles, and other assorted vermin.

The stories make it sound so easy, I'm disappointed but not surprised to see that reality didn't match up to them.

 _Thank Sithis for these gloves. This damn thing would tear my palms open if I wasn't wearing them._

I end up in a storeroom. _I suppose it would have been far too much to ask of the anchor chain to lead me directly to the Emperor's Chambers_. _Now THAT would have been poor planning on the part of the Empire – not that pissing off the Dark Brotherhood was a good plan either._

The first three sailors go down without even realizing what is happening to them. I hold the last one carefully, lowering them to the ground noiselessly – it won't do to be caught red-handed this soon in the game, having every person on board after me.

I drag the sailor back into his room and shut the door behind me.

 _Hopefully, it will be a while yet until anyone thinks to check the storeroom._

I am under no delusions: the second that someone stumbles upon the corpses, the alarm will be raised. With my current luck, they'd set sail and trap me on the Sea of Ghosts with them as some sort of last attempt at a pyrrhic victory.

Then I'd die because I can't sail a ship for shit. _Which would be embarrassing, really._

Right. Back to the task at hand.

A single Penitus Oculatus agent and some masterful sneaking later, I walk up a set of stairs that lead from the main dining hall to upstairs, or at least so it seems. The clangs of a hammer on an anvil is strange to hear aboard a ship, of all places – surely a burning forge, or any fire hot enough to work steel in a _wooden vessel_ would be a bad idea?

Nevertheless, the sound covers the creaking of the wooden stairs well enough for the guards to not immediately notice me.

It even covers the noise the armor of the Penitus Oculatus agents makes as they clang to the floor, gurgling their last breaths as they choke on the blood in the same lovely color as their tacky uniforms.

I snort and shake my head.

 _How did they manage to kill everyone? Is surprise not a daily occurrence for Assassins? How did so many of the family fall, when these guys, they're… about as incompetent as Erik was when I first took him to get fitted for armor?_

My lips purse in disapproval.

 _Or… this is a setup. Another trap._ Motierre _, I swear to Sithis if I get caught in an ambush –_

Ah. These stairs must lead to the deck, if the gentle, cool, night-time ocean breeze is any indication. _Lovely weather, for New Year's eve._ Elisif and Jordis must be having the time of their lives right about now, not even half an hour's walk from where I am right now.

 _Speaking of, it's... Fifty minutes to go to year 202 of the Fourth Era. I wonder if I can enter the new year with a bang?_

But first, the door next to the staircase. Close to an exit to the main deck, thus of importance, as whoever stays there has to be able to come up at a moment's notice.

I push the door open and slip in, immediately shutting the door behind me with a clang when the Orc on the other end rises and draws a dagger.

"What? No, hold on, Maro said you were all-"

"Dead?" I intone softly, tilting my head and narrowing my eyes as the Mer freezes momentarily, allowing me a glimpse of the shiny golden key dangling freely from his tunic's belt.

"Maro is but a mere mortal. He cannot deny the will of Sithis." I add, and the Orsimer – _Captain, the captain of the ship –_ charges with a cry that is far too loud for this time of day.

I neatly duck underneath his first stab, dancing to the side in a move Nazir taught me not too long ago and I sweep my own legs behind his while he is still standing with his arm outstretched, unbalanced.

He goes down like a sack of potatoes, knees hitting the wooden floor with a dull 'thud'. I pounce without hesitation, pressing my own knee into his back and holding one hand against his throat, keeping him down securely with his dagger sinking into the wood above the captain's head.

"Ah… That would be the Master Key you have there?" I ask, injecting dark amusement into my voice.

The stiffening of the orc's muscles beneath my fingertips is all I need to know.

"How awfully convenient. You have my gratitude." And then he's dead. The key dances between my fingers before disappearing into one of my outfit's many pockets. I imagine the Emperor will be under lock and key – hah – so this might very well come in handy.

I snatch the coins on his desk as I go. No use in wasting coin, as Brynjolf would say. _And, as Cicero would likely add: 'the guy's got no need for gold in the Void.'_

The deck is absolutely packed with people even at the late hour – or perhaps especially because of the late hour. New Year is fast approaching, and I imagine that the sailors and agents would like to celebrate it. Perhaps also celebrate the successful destruction of the Dark Brotherhood? Oh well, even if we lost that battle, what matters is that the Brotherhood will win this little war.

It's… laughably easy to slyly walk past the groups of people. A few men in the corner are clearly already drunk in 'preparation' for the parties later. Using some crates and barrels for coverage, I cross the deck and enter the other side of the Katariah.

 _It's big. And quite pretty for a ship – not that I'd know._

I make my way through and…

Come face-to-face with a big, heavy-wrought, elaborate iron door neatly labelled "Emperor's Quarters". A beat passes before I scramble for the ship's Master Key.

 _Surely it can't be THIS easy?_

It is that easy.

"And once more, I prove commander Maro the fool. I told him you can't stop the Dark Brotherhood. Never could."

I take a precious second to take in the office – a half-moon shape with a door presumably leading to a bedroom and another one leading outside. The place is made entirely out of highly polished, high quality wood that does not creak under my soles. The glass-stained windows show the ocean view outside, framed by the red banners of the empire.

The centerpiece of the room is an enormous desk covered in paper, books, maps and other paraphernalia, including a flask of wine I could probably buy another house with.

Behind it sits an old man. The one who spoke. His robes are colorful, elaborate red and blue with golden thread and luxurious fur. His wrinkled fingers all hold rings, and his posture is ramrod straight and regal.

It stands in stark contrast to the dark lines under his eyes and drawn deeply in his face, sallow and tired, eyes dark and resigned, but knowing in the way only a dying man's are. There is not a drop of sweat on his bald head, not a hair in his well-groomed beard out of place: this is a man who is at peace with fate.

It's a stunning sight.

"Come now, don't be shy. You did not come this far just to stand there gawking."

The Emperor seems almost… amused.

Slowly, I pull down the mask covering my face so he can hear my voice clearly. "You were expecting me."

It's not a question, but the man takes it as if it were one anyway.

"But of course. You and I have a date with destiny. But so it is with assassins and emperors, hmm? Yes, I must die. And you must deliver the blow. It is simply the way it is. But I wonder… would you suffer an old man a few more words before the deed is done?"

I snort, and the Emperor of Tamriel pauses as he waits calmly for my response.

"Destiny is an elusive thing. I am glad that I do not stand where you stand, even if blood could have decreed otherwise."

He raises his eyebrows. "You? You hold… Ah. You must be the elusive Dragonborn that I have been hearing so much about."

I frown, but give him a small nod. "I am. You heard all good things, I should hope?" The Emperor chuckles but makes no move to sit back down at his desk.

"I must admit, your role in the Dark Brotherhood has been kept well enough under wraps that no imperial spy has gotten their hands on the information. Jarl Elisif is most taken with you, it seems. As your past actions show, you are clearly willing to go out of your way to show kindness…"

"Aye. You mentioned allowing you to speak, I believe. Very well, who am I to gainsay an old man his right to talk? Experience taught me they like to do so." I drawl lightly, absently reaching for a poison vial to dip the ebony dagger in that I had forged just for this assassination.

The conversation flows easily even with the sharp tension in the air.

I roll the glass between my fingers when the Emperor chuckles. "You have not yet had the experience that is attending a political meeting, Dragonborn. You will know how men talk, then."

It sounds almost foreboding, yet I manage a sharp smile.

"I can Shout over any noise most men are able to make."

"So you can." He acknowledges, dipping his head and pressing the fingertips of his hands together, still as serene as a rock in the rain.

"You will hear me out, then? I thank you for your courtesy. As we both know, you will kill me tonight, at the conclusion of this year and the ending of the Mede Dynasty in a masterful collaboration that will surely be interpreted as being symbolic by writers of history."

"Now that you stand before me, I sense in you a certain… ambition, one which your rumored actions show. So I ask of you a favor."

I raise my eyebrow delicately, tilting my head as if confused. "Favor, you say?"

"Indeed. An old man's dying wish, if you will. While there are many who would see me dead, there is one who set the machine in motion. This person, whomever he or she may be, must be punished for their treachery. Once you have been… 'rewarded' for my assassination, I want you to kill the very person who ordered it. Would you do me this kindness?"

I tilt my head further, scowling.

 _His words ring false._

 _He… He knows who set him up to die._

 _Wait. Hold on._

"Is it, really?" He lifts his brows in askance, and I elaborate:

"A kindness, I mean. It sounds more as if you wish me to tie up loose ends, as it were. Do not forget I deal with assassins, thieves, and politicians alike… Amaund Motierre not the least of them." I admonish and inquire at the same time, and the Emperor turns around to stare out the window.

"You… are not wrong, I'm afraid. This Empire has been crumbling ever since the last of the Dragon Blood gave his life for Tamriel, from the moment it was founded – I would be a fool not to see it. I have lost the faith of my people, and the results are far-reaching, seen even in the Civil War right here, tearing apart even more… in vain, and at my directive, for it was I who signed the White-Gold Concordat."

I take a few seconds to let it all sink in, breathing out a deep sigh as realization sets in. Or perhaps as the realization makes itself known now that I take a moment to consider the war-torn land of Skyrim. Still…

"The Civil War was never about religion."

"No. And it is part of the mistakes I must answer for."

"…And so, you set up your own death." I deliberate, drawing my dagger soundlessly and taking a slow step towards the man's back in the resulting, _awaiting_ silence.

Once more, mainly for myself, I clarify my statement:

"Your efforts were in vain. Your Empire is falling. And an assassination is a better fate than a coward's death. Motierre is either loyal enough for you to trust him with this, but… no. He is not. You merely gave him incentive to act against you."

My words are not accusing as I figure out the Emperor's game.

"I will fulfill your request, Titus Mede II."

A near-inaudible sigh of relief. "Thank you. Somehow, I am glad it is your hand that will deal the blow, Dragonborn. I trust that you will… keep this between us?"

"What you have done for this… your ploy I can respect." I answer vaguely, dabbing poison onto the blade.

"Alright then. Fare thee well, Dragonborn."

He falls silent, and I plunge the dagger into his back, through his heart, the poison killing him almost instantly as warm blood pours out over my Dark Brotherhood gloves, dripping down the Emperor's robes and onto the floor between us.

I do not let him fall to the ground but lift him to his bed.

 _It seems too undignified for the Emperor to die like a Skeever on the floor. I can allow him this decency._

I place his rapidly cooling hands on his chest as if he were prepared for a burial, leaving the knife underneath them alongside a nightshade flower. The Dark Brotherhood's calling card.

Even in death, the old man looks serene. Perhaps even more so, since his lips are lifted upwards in a smile of acceptance even with the stains of dark, poisoned blood at their corners.

I walk out into the calm night air as alarm bells start ringing across the ship, and in the distance, I hear a hundred voices rise in jubilance, a cry for the New Year.

"Happy New Year." I whisper to myself before taking the plunge into the icy, pitch-black ocean below.

… … …

 _It did end up being interpreted as a symbol. The Fall of a Dynasty at the very start of a new era. People are saying it's a sign._

 _Gods, what a year it's been._

I'd killed Motierre as soon as possible afterwards, of course. Nazir was just happy for the coin – Devlin even more so when I paid him to brighten up the Dawnstar Sanctuary. In return, he gave me an old Dwemer key. Didn't tell me what it was for, only smirked and winked in my direction, saying something along the lines of "finding out in a bit".

I still don't know what the key is for, or how he even got his hands on such an intact piece of work.

 _I suppose that I'll find out sometime soon. Maybe when I corner him tonight._

I flick over to today's entry as Keerava places food in front of me. Coins exchange hands before I reach into my bag to retrieve my inkwell and – beaten and ragged – quill.

 **~ 12** **th** **of Morning Star E202. The Rift, Bee 'n Barb. ~**

 **I was told to come here in order to discuss the new arrangements between the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood. Brynjolf is impossibly late, so I ordered dinner. Could he really not have sent someone else by now? Or is the entire guild in a crisis? If so, I should perhaps make my way down to the Flagon so I may offer assistance.**

I finish my dinner and add a single line:

 **That's it, I'm going down there myself. I've more things to do than wait.**

 **.**

 _ **A/N: hope the time skip wasn't too confusing! I basically covered 3 months and some odd days. We'll go back to regular story format now. If you want to comment on my take on the Emperor's plot, check user "Avarti"s fan theory video on YouTube. (watch ? v = mcV3FrgyVYE) remove spaces. I did not take is AS far as the theory but playing with it was plenty of fun. I might use it later too.**_


	60. Dealmaker

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Headcanons, Thieves, mostly a filler.**

 **A/N: My muse has finally returned from their extended fucking vacation, so I figured it would be a waste to let this story sit around and gather dust much longer. Thank you all so much for still being here or coming back! The past few months I had the worst case of writer's block I've ever encountered in my life. That said… I got some questions for chapter 59, and I'll answer those at the bottom of this chapter. Hope you all enjoy!**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _I finish my dinner and add a single line: That's it, I'm going down there myself. I've more things to do than wait._

Chapter 60 – Dealmaker

As much as I despise the conditions, I quickly change into my Brotherhood gear in the Ratway, stashing my armor at the bottom of my bag before continuing and switching my axes for my dagger. I pull up the cowl, even, though not for intimidation as much as for blocking the smell of sewage.

The Ragged Flagon is as easy to find as ever, if surprisingly empty. Rune and Vex are pretty much the only members of the Thieves Guild present aside from their associates – the barman and bouncer, that is.

As it is, Rune is the one to approach me, whilst Vex watches carefully from her customary spot.

"Oh, err, hello Listener! You're… early!"

I decide to humor him.

"No, Brynjolf was just late. He was supposed to meet me two hours ago. But no matter, I am here now, and I can wait if it is an emergency. Perhaps you can inform me… Rune, was it?"

The man doesn't fidget, but it's a close thing. Being under the full attention of an assassin who knows your name must be unsettling. A bit like my first meeting with Astrid in a cemetery at night.

"Ah, yes, that's me. Did you hear about me?"

I give him a smile before realizing he won't be able to spot it underneath my cowl, so I nod my head slowly. "You are the one who searches for his past because of unknown runes they found you with."

Now it's his turn to nod, and this time, he gives in to the urge to shift uncomfortably. "Say… Etienne told us you were from the First Era, right? They must've had different writing systems then."

 _What… Oh. Well, I suppose it can't hurt._

"You wish for me to see if I know what the runes on that stone of yours mean?" I inquire cautiously, watching the thief carefully and crossing my arms. "Does nobody else know what they mean?"

"No one does. I've even taken the damn thing to the College of Winterhold. I must've spent every coin I made with the Guild trying to figure out what it might mean."

 _The College of Winterhold was built in the late First or early Second Era, but its oldest documents hail from the Second Era only. I… suppose I might at least attempt to recognize the script, even if I can't read it._

As I think it over, the thief retrieves a small stone from one of his many pockets.

"If Winterhold does not know which script it is from, chances are you are looking at First or even Merethic Era languages." I inform him in a low voice, even as I carefully take the stone from him and pull down my cowl so as to see it better.

After a few minutes of observation under the dim light of the sewers, I hand it back to him. "I can tell you what it is not. What you have here is not Daedric, nor Draconic, nor Dwemer or even Falmer in nature. Nor is it in any old Elvish language I have seen."

I pause, and watch the man's shoulder fall in disappointment. "How long ago has it been since you took it to Winterhold?"

"Five years ago."

I give him a small, reassuring smile and pat him on the shoulder. "Perhaps you are in luck after all. May I copy the runes onto parchment? I would like to send them to one of my friends at the College. He delights in mysteries such as this." I give the man's shoddy uniform a once-over, taking in the ruffled edges and half-torn belts. "I might even manage it free of charge."

"You – You'd _do_ that? For a thief you don't even know?"

I shrug my shoulders and walk by him to get to the cistern. "I admit, it is partially due to selfish motives. I can't stand having mysteries unsolved."

It almost hurts to see the man's shoulders sag in relief at the fact that my aiding him is not a charity case. Keyword being 'almost'. I know of the honor amongst thieves that these guys hold themselves to.

 _For now, I will just pen a letter to Onmund and Ondolemar. Perhaps include J'zargo in it – that Khajit hates it when he's told he can't figure something out, so he should be devoted to the project, if nothing else it'll keep them all busy with something._

 _More importantly at this moment is to confront the Nightingales with their tardiness._

The Cistern is almost completely devoid of people. Perhaps most of the Thieves Guild members are just out on jobs. I do, however, see the infamous trio plus Devlin standing in the center of the room, and Etienne nudges the others as he spots me approaching.

"You couldn't be bothered to send someone up?" Come the first words out of my mouth, tinged with the dry casualness we all appreciate – it takes the edge out of the normally tense conversations we have.

Brynjolf shakes his head and grins mischievously. "Ah, there you are lad! Could have sworn I saw you dropping by just moments ago!"

Karliah swats the back of his head with a low, snide comment that I can't hear properly due to the distance still between us. If I'm right, it's something along the lines of 'behave'.

Devlin takes the initiative to start talking business without further hesitation. "Right. Good to see ya, Listener. It'd be nice to finally have some sanity in this place. Let's get down to it, shall we? I don't have all night, and now neither do you."

I raise an elegant eyebrow in question.

"I don't?"

Brynjolf picks up from there: "Aye lad, we sent out some feelers for that little place you were looking for. We just got the info we needed – Kagrenzel's location. Here, let me mark it down for you."

I hand him my map wordlessly and he places a small 'X' in the mountains near Mzulft. "X marks the spot, and all that. Before you go running off to fulfill your destiny, or whatever your plan is, we should take a look at what we all want to do with the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild."

A deep breath, and I lock away the emotions of frustrated hope swelling within me with practiced ease. _Business first. If I want to keep their trust, I'll take this seriously. I may still not be too fond of thieves, but any alliance can come in handy, and Etienne and Brynjolf for one aren't bad people._

"So we do. I'm afraid Astrid wasn't exactly in any state to explain what the relations between our factions were when the Family was handed to me, but Nazir explained enough for it to be clear – from what I understand, the working arrangement is something along the lines of 'coin for services' and not taking any Thieves Guild member contracts on our side of things. That, and bowing to Maven Black-Briar's bitching."

"Damn straight." Devlin mutters, rubbing the stubble on his chin. "That's the gist of it, at least. Form your tone, I take it you're going to handle things differently?"

I nod decisively. "I wish to make the 'coin for services' agreement mutual. As we pay you for things like redecorating or retrieving information, I propose the Brotherhood returns the sentiment in kind. We _can_ do more than murder – Babette is skilled with non-lethal poisons, and I consider myself somewhat of an expert at retrieving lost items from ancient tombs, no matter how long ago they've last been seen. You could pay us for that without performing the rituals needed to summon us, as it's outside our… traditional purview."

They exchange glances. "I see no fault with it." Devlin concludes, and agreements are soon written onto two identical pieces of parchment by the Breton thief. "But, Listener, what about out… contract immunity?"

I shift uncomfortably. "I cannot influence on whom the contracts will be. However, I think I have found a loophole – though that comes with its limitations."

"Well, what have you found then?" Etienne asks after I pause to see how best to phrase it.

"The Tenets both mention not to kill family, and not to disobey superiors. As Listener, I am the highest rank within the Family, and could cancel any contracts on your members at risk of angering the Dread Father… Or I could claim the entire Guild as extended family, which would require that you stole nothing from us. Not even a Septim. Which has apparently been a long standing tradition."

The leaders of the Thieves' Guild immediately fall into a hushed discussion that I attempt to ignore out of respect more than ability to eavesdrop.

"I think I can live with being cousins." Etienne mutters under his breath, though Karliah scoffs haughtily. "I do not wish to anger Lady Nocturnal again."

"Hold on – Our deals with Nocturnal are business arrangements. We can make this out to be a similar thing. No stealing from the Dark Brotherhood in return for protection from their contracts sounds like a sound deal to me." Brynjolf chips in.

"I made no promises to Daedra, but Sithis is something bigger than that. Is there no other option?" Devlin asks me, and I turn to him with dead eyes.

"For me to obey the contracts and kill your members when one is placed on them."

The man winces. "Ah. I thought that'd be the case. How about we put it to a vote?"

They voted three to one in favor of protection from Dark Brotherhood contracts. "We'll have to check our marks a bit more thoroughly, is all." Etienne smiles at me, and I raise an eyebrow.

"If you say so."

"That leaves Maven." Brynjolf presses, looking at me carefully.

 _It seems a bit strange that they allow me to dominate the discussion, but if they did not agree with the terms they would make it known to me. Plus, I can have them all dead and I am in the minority, so I suppose it is also a tactic to keep me at ease._

 _Ugh, what a mess. Being Listener is harder than I thought it'd be. I should have brought Nazir._

But Nazir is hard at work tracking down prospective new initiates, so he would have turned down any offers to join me to Riften.

"As for Maven… To be frank, I refuse to bend my back for that incestuous bitch. Astrid may have ignored the tenets all she wished, but the Brotherhood is once more bound to the Will of Sithis. I can't afford to ignore the numerous contracts on her. She will die."

Devlin scoffs. "And where does that leave us? She's our benefactor!"

My eyebrows disappear into my hairline and I shoot back immediately: "If she's your only benefactor you obviously have been running this place all wrong. Are you the Thieves Guild or Maven's Guild, for Sithis' sake? The woman has done a lot of shit you wouldn't want to tarnish the Guild's name with, I assure you."

"And I suppose you have information on the Black-Briar's dirty laundry?" Brynjolf snaps, and I give him an unholy grin.

"Even better. I have _proof."_ The files I gathered on Maven Black-Briar are more extensive than the ones I have on many a Skyrim citizen, because whilst she may have the gold to line pockets and the threats to hush dissenters, I have the titles of Dragonborn, Thane, and an equal amount of cash to burn.

Brynjolf only has to flip through the first three pages for his face to twist in disgust. "Do I even want to know how we've never even heard of any of this?"

"Some of it was in what could be salvaged from the Brotherhood's archives. But mostly, it is because my 'daytime occupations' allow me to face her as equals in power, standing… and finances."

Devlin nods at me approvingly. "That doesn't answer what we'll do when she's gone, but I guess we can keep ourselves afloat."

I snort. "I can give you high-paying jobs if those are what you're fishing for, Devlin. But they'll not be easy." A pause, as an idea pops up into my head.

"How about a test? You get me Veezara's belongings from Castle Dour in Solitude – he was the one who killed the decoy Emperor – and I'll get you 1500 septims. Sounds good?"

He gives me a lopsided smirk and reaches out his hand. "Deal." We shake on it.

 _I know for a fact they still have his stuff – under heavy guard, that is. He always carries some documents and even contracts around, plus handy potions, so if the Guild can get all that to ME…_

"Does that solve the Maven issue for now?" Etienne asks, and Devlin and I nod in unison.

"Was there anything else?"

"Not really," Brynjolf allows, "But I can't help but note, lad, how this deal is mostly beneficial to us. Is there really nothing you want? You helped us with Mercer, and I'd like to repay that favor in some way."

 _There's really only one thing I can think of._

"I… have a network of informants, scattered around Skyrim. If… If you would be willing to add to that, keep me informed of anything important in politics, economics…"

"Sure." Etienne allows before anyone else can get a word in edgewise. "Anything we can get you you'd be able to get to yourself with a bit of effort, but I'm willing to make it easier if the others agree. I have some guys in Cyrodill and High Rock, myself."

"General information is a decent price to pay for all you've done for us, though of course, we will keep the juicier details to ourselves." Karliah agrees. "Very well. Do we pass it directly to you?"

"If it's too sensitive. The rest can be brought to one of my houses for my Housecarls to keep an eye on. Of course, my Housecarls needn't know the information is there."

The thieves exchange sly grins. "We can do that." Brynjolf grins, content with repaying the debt I never even thought was there.

 _If they want to be indebted to me, they can repay me all they wish. I need any help I can get._

"I believe that concludes it, then." Devlin signs the parchments with a flourish, and the rest of us follow. I take one copy, and the other disappears into the guild master's desk.

I tuck the parchment into my suit of armor.

"Now. If you'll all excuse me. I must take my leave. Places to go and mythical scrolls to hunt down."

Their knowing chuckles follow me out of the cistern.

 **A/N: I got some questions about the last chapter so I'll try and answer those here:**

 _ **GalacticHalfling**_ **(Q: How did Fjaldi know it was 50 mins until new year?): First of all, thank you for reviewing! Your comments really make my day. I usually assume that the people of Skyrim have fairly accurate ways of telling the time, as they can do so in the actual games. I headcanon they have moon/sun dials and some sort of magical timepieces, a bit like the** _ **Tempus**_ **spell in Harry Potter.**

 _ **Tichepotato**_ **(Q: Is 4E203 a typo & how thoroughly am I sticking to the canon timeline?): Yes, 4E203 was a typo. It should have been 4E202. And yes, I also take it that Alduin, at the very least, has to canonically be defeated by the 17** **th** **of Last Seed 4E202, exactly one year after he first appears. The Dragonborn DLC would have to be completed soon afterwards, like, maybe a month or so depending on when the Dragonborn beat Mirmulnir. But I did not use the DLC in this story, so I don't worry too much about its time constraints.**

 **My Dragonborn is most empathically NOT going to complete every quest in the game. As you said, I had Onmund take on the Winterhold College questline, and Etienne tackles the Thieves' Guild's issues, for example. I feel, however, that having my story focus on just the main quest makes it feel… flat? Following a cookie-cutter questline without deviation would certainly make me miss a bit of originality. I generally have a similar line of thought to yours though – one person cannot do everything… But they can still chip in!**


	61. Kagrenzel

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Ha. Ha. Ha. None, technically.**

 **A/N: Short chapter, so I added another instalment of the Dwemer Construct book series! Any new characters introduced in this chapter are my OC's.**

 _ **Last time…**_

" _Now. If you'll all excuse me. I must take my leave. Places to go and mythical scrolls to hunt down." Their knowing chuckles follow me out of the cistern._

Chapter 61 – Kagrenzel

I'm barely out of Riften's gates when things start to get… Odd.

At least, I'm pretty sure I'm feeling eyes on my back. It's a highly unnerving experience in the wilds of Skyrim.

Not a single animal attacks me.

A dragon roars in the distance but before my fingers can as much as twitch towards my blade it cuts off abruptly.

Some dead bandits are spread across the ground in increasingly embarrassing positions as I move towards where Brynjolf said Kagrenzel is located.

The Dwemer key in my pocket seems to be humming with anticipation.

It has me on edge. It has me so very, very much on edge that I spot the recent footprints in the snow as if I had been walking behind them whilst they made them. If anything, it makes my already confused self… want to scour the entire area from top to bottom. It's an instinctual reaction that I can temper only by reassuring myself that Kagrenzel is the higher priority at the moment.

I've finally found the place, I can't afford to waste even more time than I already have.

 _If this turns out to be yet another dead end, I do not think I will ever be able to look a Thieves Guild in the eye. Mainly because I would kill them all._

Despite my violent thoughts, I am tired.

Weary in a way no mead or bed can fix, a deep-seated melancholy that seeps down to my very bones, making them grow aching and heavy like a festering disease. I am not ill physically – I learned my lesson back in Winterhold. It's the weariness that comes after the desperation, after the bargaining, the anger, the pain, the depression, the sort that would come across as reluctant acceptance of fate by those foolish enough to believe in such concepts.

The roads are long and lonely and I'm _tired._

Hopefully, this place will finally put an end to the searching.

Miserably, I trudge further, spotting the Dwemer building ahead and taking a deep breath to center myself. The doors are unmarked by inscriptions, or perhaps time has worn them away, and so I won't know if this is the place I have been looking for unless I step inside.

A small group of dead bandits in the snow next to the entrance, bodies long dead and half-rotted and reeking, but the white they are half-buried in recently disturbed, has me on edge.

Someone has indeed been here not too long ago. Not even a few hours, if that.

The first room is uninspiring, to say the least. The lights have been destroyed at some point, and the semi-darkness is only offset by the sky outside. Barely, I distinguish shelves in the alcoves at either side of the room. The entire place is barren as an emptied mine.

The second room is lit by a warm, golden glow. The sounds of tinkling bells like a wispmother's echo throughout the chamber, strong pillars holding up the ceiling as the light burns merrily over a small raised altar. The centerpiece of the room stands on a circular, raised platform. It's completely empty aside from the light on the altar… or perhaps more of a plain pedestal, now that I'm closer.

 _Closer?_

I pause in my steps abruptly, realizing that I am mere steps away from touching the light source whereas before, I was just gawking from the entryway. Pursing my lips, I take another step, the bells originating from the glowing orb becoming almost deafening when this close.

Gently, and without even noticing it, my fingers brush against the light.

The trap springs.

Around me, quick as lightning, high fences shoot up from previously unnoticed grooves in the stone.

" _Shit_!" Comes my eloquent reaction, even as the glowing orb starts to spin around the newly formed golden cage, casting striped and painfully dizzying shadows onto me.

 _There's no way out._

 _Is this how I am to die?_

And:

' _Gods damn it Brynjolf'_

...Are the thoughts shooting through my head rapidly as I turn on my heel, desperately trying to find a way out before I end up like the bandits outside.

"Calm down." Comes a voice over the now screeching orb of light. A figure approaches from the entryway, clad in a set of black Master Robes of Destruction, the enchantments glowing faintly in the dark. The figure's face is shrouded in the shadows, but I would recognize that voice anywhere in Nirn.

"It – No, it can't be - " I manage to choke out, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets in disbelief even as my stomach twists itself into knots and my heart makes a valiant effort to climb up my throat and out of my body.

Pearly teeth gleam in golden light as the hooded Imperial grins.

"You're going to be fine, you hear me? You'll be fine. Stand in the middle of the platform."

I obey without a thought, too shaken to do much beyond staring breathlessly.

"Marcurio..?" It is a wretched whisper that falls past my lips as if in prayer.

 _Is this an illusion of the orb? Am I dying even now?_

The grin only broadens.

"Fjaldi." He replies, and I choke on a sob, staying rooted to the spot.

 _It's a lie._ A small voice whimpers in the back of my mind, gaining momentum with the speed and destructive force of a Shout.

 _It can't be him. He's dead. Dead, dead, DEAD, DEAD-_

I give no head to the sudden darkness that surrounds us.

"Don't – Don't fuck around with me like this, you vile apparition!" I roar in an agonized rage, my voice bouncing off the walls with the power of the Thu'um. "I'm going to fucking KILL you! Who the _FUCK_ do you think you are?! Don't you _dare -!"_

That's when my stomach lurches and previously solid stone gives away beneath my feet, my yelling being abruptly ended with an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp as gravity reasserts itself and I'm send plummeting down a narrow tunnel.

I scream the entire way as I'm besieged by jutting rocks on all sides.

Instead of falling to my death, however, I tumble ass-over-kettle into a bright pool of light, spotting the flash of a purple cloak up ahead.

" _ **You must bring the Scroll to Mzark before time runs out, Dovahkiin-Tumgol. Alduin grows ever-stronger, and you spent too long finding your way. Now, find it again… You must make haste. Even my protections shall reach their limits on the fourteenth day."**_

And in the midst of my panic and shock of _seeing Marcurio_ and _falling into an endless abyss of light,_ a single thought comes to me as clear as a lake on a wind-still sunny day.

 _Finally some Daedra-forsaken clear instructions._

Then I hit the water with a resounding 'splash'.

It closes in on me from all sides, forcing itself into my airways - my nose, mouth, even my ears are flooded. I resist the urge to gasp for air as the force with which I slam onto the surface knocks it out of me painfully.

A few moments of disoriented flailing later, I manage to figure out which way is up and break through the surface, getting a first glance at my surroundings.

A wooden platform is held above the water by sturdy pillars, and from it, two elves in researcher's garb are staring down at me, perplexed.

I stare back up at them, mirroring their expressions since I find myself equally befuddled.

" **Kinsmer. How come you entered via the supply shaft rather than the entrance?** " One of them speaks, his shoulders - swathed in a triangular poncho that broadens his shoulders and is embroidered with thick stripes and patterns – shake with amusement, causing the beads in his hair to jingle like bells, silver and ebony glinting under the Dwemer lamp set into the ceiling above our heads.

I scramble to make sense of the situation even as I decide to just roll with the punches for this one – _These Dwemer… Did they survive after all? Did they manage to bypass whatever it was that destroyed my entire race?_

… _Or…_

 _Or… am I back in the past?_

 **A/N: You can kiss canon goodbye from here on out. I mean, I'll stick to the lore, but the main quest? In this fic it's not gonna happen the usual way. Now, without further ado:**

Dwemer Constructs in Skyrim, Vol. IV

By: Fjaldi **dû Bthardamz,** **dûn-ek Nchuand-Zel.**

 _Introduction_

 _This volume, more than any of the previous ones, will to me and perhaps you feel like a trip down memory lane. It was more difficult to put these words to paper, because, unlike in the previous volumes, one of the places of which I write is not build up of second-hand accounts and my own experiences with their haunted ruins millennia down the line. It might be all the shorter for it, for I cannot bear to think of the memories left to roam in Bthardamz._

 _Aye, Bthardamz, the city for which I have been named. Funny thing about Dwemer names, is that most of us did not own any semblance of a last name. the_ **dû** _, or "dû" in my own name stand for, roughly translated, the phrase "he-who-was-born-in". Thus, my Dwemer name simple means "Fjaldi who was born in Bthardamz", and nothing more complex than that, such as what certain Dwemer researchers first assumed. At least, that was the name I held when I lived in Nchuand-Zel. Now that I no longer live there either, my name has been extended to, you may have guessed it: "Fjaldi who was born in Bthardamz and who was raised in Nchuand-Zel":_ _ **Fjaldi dû Bthardamz, dûn-ek Nchuand-Zel**_ _. For women, it is much the same, only they do not use "dû" and "dûn-ek" but "dích" and "dích-ek" (written in Dwemeris as_ _ **dích**_ _and_ _ **dích-ek**_ _respectively)._

 _But enough musings on Dwemer naming. In this work I will discuss two Dwemer locations in Skyrim; Bthardamz and what is now known as Reachwind Eyrie, formerly "_ _ **Hawk Feather Tower"**_ _or "Ecchandak", in your writing. Be cautious, reader, that these books serve as guidelines, but not guides to Dwemer ruins. That said, if you wish to search out either of these places, you would by far have a higher chance to live facing the Forsworn to get to Reachwind Eyrie than to brave the enormous complex that is Bthardamz._

 _Bthardamz, "_ _ **Bthardamz**_ _":_

 _The first thing that will strike any visitor to the ruins of Bthardamz is their sheer size. Not only was Bthardamz the largest Dwemer city west of_ _ **Arkngthand**_ _(Arkngthand) in Morrowind, it is also one of the largest ruins of any type in the entirety of Skyrim. I would, in fact, be rather unsurprised were I to learn that it is the biggest ruin this province knows. Of course, this size is not merely due to the favourable stone types in the area at play – though if you seek to mine stronger metals, you are better off searching elsewhere._

 _Even for a Dwemer City State, Bthardamz was fairly isolated and hard to reach. The local Nedes and other races had little contact with the city beyond the necessary trading of goods. Not to mention that the locals at this point were in conflict with each other and wanted nothing more than weaponry. Contact with other Dwemer cities was limited to a twice yearly caravan – one that my mother and I travelled with when we moved to Nchuand-Zel. It might be interesting to know that before the rivers and rocks in the Reach shifted and carved the landscape into what you find today, Bthar-Zel (Deep Folk Crossing) was the only available means to the city proper._

 _The isolation of the city has drawn the Daedra Worshipping Afflicted to the area, who commune with and revere Peryite, Daedric Prince of Pestilence. They are generally a peaceful lot, not interacting with the outside world – they are however not too fond of intruders attempting to murder them. I'd advise you stay away and leave them to their lives._

 _Reachwind Eyerie, formerly known as Ecchandak, "_ _ **Hawk Feather Tower**_ _"_

 _Reachwind Eyerie's original function was to serve as a watchtower to Nchuand-Zel and nearby above-ground Dwemer settlements in the west, which have since been completely wiped off the map. Of course, this was due to the frequent civil and interspecies wars in the First and Second Eras. However, the function of the tower changed long before these conflicts even took place. The Dwemer, too, had their legends, though few of those feature humans quite as prominently as the stories attached to Ecchandak, or "Hawk Feather Tower" in your tongue. I fear I may not be able to tell you much about it beyond the bedtime stories of my mother._

 _She would often speak of it. A mage, visiting the north and all its settlement during the first era, in the early days of Nchuand-Zel, searching for something that to this day remains a mystery. My mother's great-great grandmother had seen him, or so she claimed: a tall, round-eared stranger with no hair on his head but a beard to the middle of his chest, clad in black, red and silver robes with enchantments unlike any she had ever seen. He held great power, but instead of enhancing it, he sought a method of sealing it, fearful for reasons he would not speak of._

 _He sought a place to study this sealing in peace, close to where his suspicions led him to believe he would one day be forced to rest. It was not too strange for a mage to gain powers of clairvoyance or precognition back then, and as such, the Dwemer accommodated him, granting him the renamed Reachwind Eyerie and showing him how to activate our most secret locks. After he suffered an untimely death by hands of his kin, an old Dwemer guard sealed away the mage's research in honour of him, so that none would touch what he had so long sought to keep secret. But this guard did spread his name to all who would hear. Perhaps, dear reader, you may recognize it even today: Gauldur._


	62. Kinsmer

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): TRIGGER WARNING. Implied Mind rape at the very end, SKIP IT if that sort of thing triggers you!**

 _ **Last time…**_

I scramble to make sense of the situation even as I decide to just roll with the punches for this one – _These Dwemer… Did they survive after all? Did they manage to bypass whatever it was that destroyed my entire race? Or… am I back in the past?_

Chapter 62 - Kinsmer

" **I seem to have gotten lost. I was supposed to head to Mzulft."** I somehow manage to lie with a straight face.

This time, both of them laugh at my apparent misfortune.

" **Nay, kinsmer. This is Kagrenzel. Perhaps we were lax with our concealment barrier, if a youngster such as yourself managed to pass by it and end up here.** " The first Dwemer remarks thoughtfully, turning and stomping down the narrow corridor ahead whilst muttering under his breath. A Falmer – _not yet, not entirely, those are eyes in its skull even if they've been blinded –_ scurries away from his heavy boots when the Dwemer researcher absently kicks at it.

I want to cringe at seeing it, being reminded that no matter how tolerant my own family used to be, most of my race consisted – _consists? –_ of hard-headed conservatives, basking in their own sense of superiority and blind to the suffering of races they view as simple beasts.

The other researcher sighs, looking quite put upon as he gestures for me to follow. More at having to take care of me rather than the abuse towards the Falmer, no doubt.

" **That would be N'dak, my Master. He has always been like this. Slow to catch details, fast to see the humor of a situation… Only to get distracted by the next thing to cross his mind.** "

A pause. **"I am Er'thk of Mzinchaleft. I caught the attention of Master during my studies and now I research here. I take it you were on your way to Mzulft for an apprenticeship in Trapmaking?"**

 _How to answer this?_

I suppose a little white lie cannot hurt, especially when it might help me to build a rapport with these Dwemer. _Dwemer, honest to gods members of my own race._

 _Why do I not feel kinship with any of them?_

 _I feel like an outsider._

" **Yes. I was supposed to accompany my cousin Mellte, but we… He's dead."**

In another time. _A Time I must find a way to get back to before my two weeks are out. I don't know much about meddling with the flow of time, but surely if that purple-robed figure warned me so specifically, I shouldn't wait around for a way home to come to me._

" **May his spirit rest with Xrib and his mind contribute to All Knowlegde."** Er'thk mutters. Then, he continues:

" **Your armor is strange, but as you are Kin, I assume you plucked it off of the corpses of the ones who slayed your cousin. Ground rules here in Kagrenzel are to stay silent in research areas and to stay clear of Head Researcher Kvaldi of Bthardamz. We'll go there now. Beds are down the corridor in the tower – west, kitchens are under the lake. Slaves are for research purposes only. We have another shipment of them coming in 3 days. Research is focused on -"**

I stay silent as if in contemplation, while, really, I'm just trying to make sense out of the Dwemer manner of speech – haphazard, and without clear structure to most races. A conversation between Dwemer relies heavily on implications and jumps in logic, and I've grown unused to such things after all this time spend without another member of my race.

Not to mention that I am far from fluent in the consonant-rich, abbreviated, article-less language after spending what feels like an eternity without it.

Nevertheless, I manage to decipher the most important cues – and they strike me as being rather… off.

 _Kvaldi of Bthardamz?_ A strange feeling sets in my stomach, because the name 'Kvaldi' is one that strikes a too-familiar chord within me.

" **Kvaldi of Bthardamz?"** I prompt after the silence between us stretches, reaching into the depths of my mind to remember proper etiquette so that I will not offend anyone here. Offenses, I know, can quickly lead to either battle or some form of punishment, depending on how far the offended party outranks me.

 _And if they've pegged me for an Apprentice without a Master, I am most definitely lower in standing than Er'thk._

" **Aye. Did not even want to have the honor. Wife and kid left behind in Bthardamz, I heard – Kagrenzel is a highly classified research location. Nearest blood kin all the way to Nchuand-Zel, too. Now he is obsessed with the Time Mirror, genius but touched by the Madness. There's talk of bringing in a successor. You did not introduce yourself at first Words. The fall is quite high, aye?"**

 _Right. So if I understood all that correctly, this Kvaldi was brought in unwillingly from his home, kidnapped probably, and was forced to stay in Kagrenzel. And Er'thk thinks I did not give my name because I was off-kilter from the fall down the supply shaft, rather than because of a breach of etiquette._

" **I am Fjaldi of Bthardamz, though I am citizen of Nchuand-Zel."**

The researcher nods, suddenly seeming rather distracted as we continue our way through the facility. As we walk, the floors and walls, immaculate and clean, are slowly being twisted and distorted, showing millennia of decay and dirt and Falmer architecture…

I blink and the world stops moving around me, suddenly feeling rather exhausted. Er'thk doesn't seem to have noticed my lagging, and so I hurriedly catch up to him, still reeling inwardly.

 _What in Oblivion was that?!_

" **Your hair clasp is… highly unusual. A family heirloom, I assume?"**

 _Hair clasp..? Oh. Oh! Idgrod Ravencrone's gift! Shit. I hadn't realized it's not of Dwemer make. I'd best keep him from getting even more suspicious and not let him examine it too closely._

" **Aye. A gift from my… Aunt."**

 _Close enough._

The remainder of the journey, down several sets of stairs until we're underneath the lake, where the roaring and hissing of steam pipes greets me in a cacophony of sounds, is spend in stony silence.

The familiar hum of machinery and the cadence of Animunculi and Dwemer scurrying about make me, if possible, feel even less at home. I'd much prefer the crackling of an open fire, the clanking of full mugs spilling drink and the roaring laughter of patrons of a group of Nords in the background even as some upstart bard warbles 'Age of Aggression' with varying levels of success. That is comfortable.

This is just painfully awkward.

I find myself growing more nervous by the minute.

 _I only have two weeks to find the Elder Scroll and make my way back to Fal Zhardum Din. I don't have the first clue where to find the damn thing, or how I am to go about covering the distance to Raldbthar, gaining access to the caverns without killing every Dwemer in my way, going to the Tower of Mzark without gaining suspicion, AND then call Vulthuryol hoping to gods that he shows up._

 _Two weeks._

 _Ugh. I don't do well with deadlines. Putting everything off to the last minute has got to be one of my greatest weaknesses._

When Er'thk gives me a questioning glance over his shoulder, I merely shake my head.

 _I need a drink. Wish Ondolemar was here, he could sneak me some even under the noses of all these Dwemer. He smuggled mead all the time in Markarth._

 _But Markarth doesn't even exist as "Markarth" yet, if I'm really in the past._

Homesickness hits me hard, and my footsteps falter. Vaguely, I wonder why I keep thinking of home, and the past. I'm sure I'm missing something important.

" **Kinsmer, are you ill?** " He asks without infliction, clearly not much caring for my feelings. Perhaps I'm too used to humans and their high empathic ability, but I grit my teeth at his clear dismissal of any 'illogical' emotion I may be showing that cannot be scientifically explained.

" **Nay. Merely… Contemplative."**

He presses his lips into a thin line, beads clicking, but doesn't comment.

Before I walked out into the Fourth Era's sun for the first time, I had been secretly ashamed at my family showing emotion so freely even amongst other Dwemer. Now I know better, and wear the implicit disapproval of Er'thk with pride.

We turn another corner, down one final flight of stairs that seems to go on forever, the equally spaced lights casting the world in blue. I never questioned what powered the lamps in Dwemer ruins. I don't think I want to know.

Er'thk comes to a halt in front of large, double golden doors, no different from others as far as I can see - with the exception of the Dwemer heads serving as door knockers, large rings clutched between their snarling teeth.

My throat is tight, my kinsmer's lips curled downwards as if he'd eaten something foul as pale blue fingers lift the rings and knock three consecutive times.

Muffled shouting from behind the door, harsh and berating.

Er'thk turns unnervingly clear eyes to me, silver and ebony beads in his beard and hair shifting soundlessly as his deep black gaze focuses on me and me alone. But I've faced dragons and draughr, and remain calm.

" **He is expecting you. Go, Kinsmer, may Sithis be merciful to you this day.** "

It takes an embarrassingly long moment for me to dredge up the proper, formal reply to his farewell, in which his eyes narrow at me warily.

"… **And may He be but a distant shadow in your future."**

He nods stoically, still unnaturally focused on me, before sharply turning and leaving. I'm left alone before the doors, the doorknockers grimacing at me mockingly. The doors turns out to be firmly locked. I wait. Wait. And wait some more.

Fed up, I go to better inspect the new obstacle in my path.

A lock.

There is a lock in the center of the door.

Why would Er'thk leave me here without as much as a key?

I've been standing out here uselessly for like, an hour. _Feels like an hour, anyway._

There's no way –

 _Except._

Frowning, I take out the key that Delvin gave me, holding it next to the intricate mechanism. It fits. Perfectly. As if the man had given it to me, just for this occasion.

 _Er'thk would likely have left me standing here until I crawled back to him for help – or until the head scholar opened the doors for me, to which he doesn't seem inclined, considering I've been standing here for half an hour._

Cautiously, I push the doors open, holding my breath as it slides open with nary a sound. Before me hovers a platform, barely long enough to take three steps before falling into the inky blackness below, though I hear the faint dripping of water far underneath my feet. There's a single lever to the side of the platform, fixed against a stone pillar bare of any of the usual Dwemer decorative architecture.

In front of me is a large chasm, light being cast from the far walls like blue eyes in the darkness and light from above creating a comparatively painfully bright halo onto a circular center platform, showing a scene straight out of my oldest nightmares. The mirror is shaped like a clam. Like the ones I broke open for chowder on the shores of Winterhold.

The platform holds nothing beyond a stone pillar in the center, surrounded by bloodied chains, and a long table with all sorts of knickknacks and research materials. The pillar is about my size. I don't want to know its use.

The second part of the platform, that gives it it's clam-like shape, is a dull golden, circular, concave mirror rimmed with blue Aetherium, strange symbols inscribed all over it – not Dwemeris, not Dovahzul, not Common or any Daedric script. All the symbols are cast in the same Aetherium blue that gives me flashbacks to Fal Zhardum Din. There doesn't seem to be anyone on the center platform at first glance, but I heard the shouting and know someone else is here.

After a deep breath and a long hesitation, I pull the lever, watching solemnly as the same path from my dreams unfolds out of the shadows, creating a bridge towards my goal.

There's an ominous 'click' behind me as the doors lock themselves. I still have the key - but what is its use? There's no going back now. I'm already here.

 _In for a Septim, in for an ingot._

I cross the bridge, the sense of vertigo I get after a glance over the edge enough to prevent me from walking slowly, even if doing so would give me a better chance at observing what happens in the center of the… room?

The moment I set foot onto the platform, the bridge behind me shudders and sinks back into the lightless abyss that I really don't want to fall into.

" **Who's there? Who dares to trespass into my domain?"** The voice sounds again, just as harsh as earlier. Unforgiving. Cold. Hysterical.

I swallow thickly. **"Fjaldi of Nchuand-Zel, born in Bthardamz. I am here with questions."** _And hope you can give me the object I seek so desperately._

The voice cackles, and I still see no-one. Cautiously, I take a few steps towards the table. The mirror shows nothing now, but I know it has been used to spy on me, through space and time, and I don't think I want to know who made or uses something so awe-inspiringly horrible.

" **Oh? Answers, he seeks? Answers he hopes I can give. Hah! As if I would ever! I answer nothing, answer to none, for all I held dear has betrayed me!"**

The scholar steps out from behind the mirror, wearing robes far more elaborate than the ones my guide here wore, but still sticking to the basic design. They look like what I'd seen of the Arch Mage's robes, only less… drab.

The coloring is vibrant and the threads are golden and electric blue, the triangular shoulder padding sticking out from underneath a thick, black beard held together with more beads than I'd ever seen on a Dwemer not of the nobility. The hair on the scholar's head is tied back into a braid tight enough to tug at the skin of his forehead as he frowns, swaying with every step, the white ribbon holding it together barely visible.

White is the color of mourning. Of winter, and of the death that comes with the snow and cold.

I can't afford to stand still and wonder what it is he mourns. He looks too mad for such emotions.

His eyes are the same blue at the Aetherium. Bright, glowing, no pupil or sclera in sight, only an even surface so bright as to almost be blinding in the surrounding dimness. The hairs on the back of my neck rise at the sight – like he replaced his eyeballs with marbles. He mutters continuously under his breath.

" **Was always mine. Went without us, doomed us all… How did he do it?** _ **My beloved…**_ **I must know, I will know. I See. I See. The Mirror never lies. I seek, dig, delve, and my answers will come to me. He will answer, Yes, Yes... He betrays me. Betrays all.** _ **But he is still mine**_ **. I've Seen it. My traitor blood…"**

There's something off about his voice, I realize. The pitch shifts and tilts and trembles, like two people are talking rather than one. I suppose that is why he is insane.

I ready myself, my hands falling to my axes without thought, one foot shifting back to make a smaller target and my muscles tensing as if to pounce.

A suspicion niggles at the back of my mind.

 _Surely, it couldn't be…_

I can't help but ask, though.

" **Who are you?"**

The scholar laughs, head thrown back and beads dancing and laughing alongside him. He moves to the table, and only now do I see the large scroll strapped to his back.

"The Elder Scroll..! **"** I breathe out, barely even gasping for air in my shock. The scholar whips around at hearing the other language, front facing me and hiding all but the tip of the scroll from my sight, to my dismay. Those bottomless blue lights discern me carefully.

" **Ah. It is you. I would ask how you came to be here, when you have not been, should not have, and never will."**

I scowl. **"What do you mean?"**

The scholar tilts his head and rolls his left shoulder. Something about the simple gesture is so painfully familiar that it has me floundering. Then, he chuckles, and the puzzle pieces start to fall in place right before my eyes.

 _But it's impossible. It cannot be._ Almost subconsciously, I take another few steps forwards, drawing one axe threateningly.

" **Who are you? Answer me!"** I demand harshly, pointing the blade at his throat as my eyes flash dangerously, my teeth bared in a silent snarl even as the mirror rattles with the force of my Thu'um.

The scholar tuts and shakes his head, stepping closer, closer, until the sharp end of my black rests against the cloth covering his collarbone, pressing into the hairs and unavoidably cutting through some of them.

A single bead clinks to the floor when the scholar grins, the expression unholy.

" **Is it not obvious? My name is Kvaldi, scholar of Time, Watcher of the mirror. Born in Bthardamz, I am son of Kvidvr, son of Eldva."**

My eyes swell in disbelief, even as tears spring to their corners and my breath leaves me in a choking sound. My knees wobble unsteadily underneath me, and the grip on my axe loosens as it tips towards the floor. I can't bear to look at him.

 _I know those names._

 _No._

" **I am Lost. I am Scholar. I am husband of Saarimda…"**

The Dwemer who holds the Elder Scroll, who spied on me in my sleep, thousands of years into the future, who is mad and unfeeling and whose eyes scream of nothing but ice –

 _This can't be true. He wouldn't… Why would he..?_

He reaches a hand out to me, cupping my face almost gently, coaxing me into meeting his eyes. Inside them I see a silent scream, a call for help, an agony so bone-chillingly deep that I can't move myself away even as tears flow freely down my cheeks, onto his cold, sickly pale hand.

"… **And your father."**

He activates the Calling, forcing himself into my mind, my head, and memories start to play by faster than I can process them, my head explodes into pain, so much that I can't even see straight anymore, and the world is reduced to agony, white-hot and burning and invasive and the laughter of an innocent child, the taste of simpler times on my tongue, warmth of a bear hug, endless nights of patience and fear and missing, _missing me so dearly…_

Blissful nothingness.

 **A/N:**

 **AH, the old chiche of "I am your father". lol.**

 **Dwemer language translations are just that to me: translations. Even grammar-wise I imagine Dwemeris to be very different from the Latin-based languages I grew up with. I imagine that a sentence like:**

" **Go, Kinsmer, may Sithis be merciful to you this day."**

 **Would look, if followed by grammar structures I headcanon, be more like:**

" **Go, Kinsmer. Today, Merciful be Sithis to you."**

 **But that would read weirdly, so yeah.**

 **Do you guys have any interesting Dwemer headcanons?**


	63. Closure

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Dialogue heavy, character death.**

 **A/N: "Uzfakuh" = my greatest joy, from Tolkien dwarfish.**

 **Not entirely happy with this chapter but oh well.**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _He activates the Calling, forcing himself into my mind, my head, and memories start to play by faster than I can process them, my head explodes into pain, so much that I can't even see straight anymore… missing me so dearly… Blissful nothingness._

Chapter 63 - Closure

I wake up in a – unfortunately – familiar situation. Chained up in the center of the room, to the pillar. My head aches, a dull throb that makes me want to cry in agony with every beat of my heart, and I'm slumped over, limply dangling with my knees right above the ground and my arms strung up above me. My mouth tastes like old vomit, and bile rises at the mere sensation of acid chunks of half-digested food behind my teeth. I'm not wearing my armor – I'm not even wearing a shirt or shoes, only a pair of Dwemer pants hanging loosely off my hips.

" **Ah. You are awake. Good. Good. I have answers. I will give you yours."**

A hand holds my head up and I flinch away violently as I meet those blue eyes again, memories and phantom pains assaulting me instantly. But the eyes in front of me are duller than before, and the mirror behind him is showing an image of Fal Zhardum Din.

I am unable to resist as the Dwemer – Kvaldi, my Da _, who held me in his lap and gave me grandfather's amulet, who forced me in chains and into my mind, who soothed away my pains and left my mother and me behind –_ holds a bowl filled with some unknown liquid to my throat. I swallow it down without protest, the fight having drained out of me in my weakness.

" **Why did you do this?"** I manage to croak out as the liquid, some sort of Healing potion, I notice, sets to work on my parched throat. My entire body shakes, muscles spasming and protesting as I struggle back to my feet.

I must have screamed when he forced his way through my mental defenses. _Probably vomited, too._ New tears are forming in my eyes, the dried salt still stuck to my lashes from earlier.

" **You were covered in vomit and it was filthy. Ah. But you do not refer to that, do you? It could not be avoided. The mirror shows not All. But All was what I needed. You left. You betrayed. You abandoned and left our people to their doom. But… You did not know. I Saw your mind and all your deepest secrets, disgusting as some may have been. But… You did not know."** He marvels, and it makes me snarl in disgust.

" **I believe… you owe me… an apology."** I bite out then, gasping between breaths that I can't quite catch, nearly growling in my restraints as I slowly regain my strength. Even though the headache has not abated in the slightest and leaves me cross-eyed whenever I as much as tilt my head.

" **I do? Ah. I do, do I not?"**

I know that what he did could never be forgiven and would take me months to recover from, if at all. Father or not. Misguided or not. And not even an apology seemed to be forthcoming. I let out a sharp breath and force myself to focus through the pain.

" **Why did you… think me a traitor?"**

" **You vanished. Vanished into time, not a day before we all Vanished from being. I Saw it in the mirror, Saw that even now our unbecoming is approaching. We will be unmade, nothing left behind except the things we have built… and you. You travelled, travelled like none before you have managed, for reasons I now Know, by the power of gods in which I do not believe."**

A pause.

" **I needed to know. Needed to Know if our unmaking could be prevented. So I took the Scroll from where it was and always has been, to where it never was yet where it is. You are… Unique. Even as you moved around in the Present you know, both Future and Past shifted. Most need only worry for the former."**

I frown, eyes tight with lingering aches and worry.

" **You… You took the Scroll here… Knowing I was going to look for it… And lured me here…"**

" **Aye."**

" **But** _ **why?**_ **"** I cry, helplessly confused and feeling not a little betrayed. To have my own father, or one who claims to be my family, hurt me like this, force me into this – into the past, to so much stress and too far beyond my limits. **"Why did you do this to me, Da? I thought you** _ **loved me**_ **!** _ **Loved Ma!**_ **That you'd** _ **never**_ **hurt us!"** I throw the accusation at his face, remembering all too clearly what he'd said before leaving my mother and I for good.

For the first time, the scholar hesitates, and his eyes, to my shock, flicker from blank blue light to clear golden, pupils and all, before flickering back to blue. But I know what I saw. I've seen it written all over my own face, in my own eyes whenever I saw myself reflected.

Regret.

Then the scholar – because those blue eyes are unnatural, clearly, there has to be more at stake. _There must be_ something _, or I might just go insane._

" **Am I not your son? Did you not** _ **promise**_ **me, did you not** _ **swear**_ **that everything you did was for mom and me? That you loved us?"**

Blue eyes fill with tears. **"** _ **I DID LOVE YOU! I NEVER STOPPED MISSING YOU! I COULDN'T BEAR THE THOUGHT OF KNOWING YOU HAD DIED ALONG WITH ALL OUR PEOPLE!"**_

His eyes flicker more, his face torn between cold rage and wretched despair.

" **What controls your mind, father?"** _What entity forced itself into my head? Please tell me it wasn't you, tell me you're being controlled, tell me you didn't hurt me, that you didn't mean it. Tell me you regret, tell me that you don't hate me now._

I would rather my head split open entirely, that the headache increases tenfold, than dealing with the uncertainty and the emotional pain. Dwemer don't deal well with negative emotions, fierce as they may be.

He snarls, more beads falling to the floor from where my axe had dug into his beard, before doubling over and clutching at his head.

My exhausted, blurry eyes turn to the spinning contraptions on the table, then the mirror towering over us, bolted into the stone and glaring down at us. My father is muttering to himself again, but I can't quite make out any words.

 _Ah. Now I see. The runes on the mirror match the runes on the Eye of Magnus. Because that ended so well. Fucking joy._

 _I need to get out of here._

I struggle against my chains, the world drifting in and out of focus. My father is raving like a madman, screaming angrily in garbled words and crying in pain as he stumbles along the platform, his eyes screwed shit tightly. When he falls over the side of the table, rolling and sending endless papers and quills and ink scattering in all directions, the chains around me fall away.

The button to activate the mechanism was on the table then?

My father falls onto the ground in a heap and lies still. The whole situation comes straight out of my nightmares, confusing and disorienting and I'm not sure what to do with myself now that I'm freed.

I can see the lever from here – I can activate the bridge, open the doors and leave this place, taking the Elder Scroll with me and leaving my father to his demons, to his mirror and the madness that has taken hold of him… leave him to rot.

But I love my father. I want him to be happy, I want him to acknowledge me, I've sought his approval ever since I was a kid, and seeing him fallen so far from who he was – strong, unfaltering, honest and kind and, in my child self's mind, unbeatable. To see him lie broken breaks my own heart.

" **Father… Da..? Da? Are… Are you there?"** I ask the prone figure, not much more than a heap of hair and heavy robes under which his skeletal frame is breathing shallowly. He remains still as I approach, retrieving my axes and kneeling next to his side, one axe drawn as I cautiously place my free hand on his shoulder to turn him towards me.

 _I still can't believe I'm touching my father. After all this time, after all these years of mourning and moving on… Am I wrong, am I wretched for wishing he had stayed dead?_

The figure howls when I try to move him, lashing out with clawed fingers, digging nails into the bare skin of my arms and dragging them down, leaving bloody trails behind that have me yelp and bring my axe down on reflex.

Blue light stutters and shivers before fading completely, and I find my own eyes staring back up at me as blood bubbles from between my father's lips.

Horrified, I turn wide eyes to the stump of his arm and the blade digging deep into his chest.

" **Fjaldi…** "

To hear my name spill from his lips has me in tears again almost immediately. The corners of my mouth jerk into a grimace as I fight them. **"Da..!"** I choke out, because I know no healing magic, I have no potions with me, and I've killed enough people to see when someone is at deaths' doors.

" **My son… My beloved child… Look at me,** _ **Uzfakuh**_ **… "** He breathes.

" **Please, Da, no. You're only hurting yourself -"**

A cold hand covers my smaller one, the simple gesture silencing me. Smaller, even now, and there's a stab in my chest at seeing it. I bite my lip until it bleeds, but don't look away from his face anymore, even as my vision blurs and breathing becomes harder.

My father smiles up at me, before his expression twists into one of pain and regret. **"I am so, so sorry… I… There are no excuses for the pain I have inflicted on you. I was… Selfish. I wanted to… see you. Keep seeing you. It took me a long time… Far too long a time, to realize that the Dwemer who had escaped our extinction, the one who I learned to… to hate with all of my being, was you. My son. My own son…** _ **Drak'nakaraat Threinmûr.**_ **"**

He smiles again and chuckles hoarsely, but proud, oh so proud, but I cannot bring myself to smile back. **"I watched you, even as the mirror corrupted me, I could not stop watching you… the Mer you became. Your mistakes, your triumphs, the friendships and family you forged… I have never been so proud."**

Kvaldi coughs harshly, more blood dripping onto his beard as his hand clenches around mine, his eyes hardening with sheer stubborn Dwemer determination.

" **I wrote… In my better moments… a note. Take the Scroll,** _ **Uzfakuh**_ **, and bring it to Raldbthar… N'Dak will aid you, show him the note… Go home to your beloved… Fulfill your destiny."**

The tears are falling freely now as I clutch his hand to my chest, barely daring to breathe in fear that I will miss any of his words.

" **I regret… Having to leave you. Saarimda… I will see you soon…"** His eyes are not focusing anymore, staring somewhere over my shoulder as he bleeds out on the stone floor, surrounded by his research and the cursed mirror looming over him even in his final moments.

I nod quickly, my voice trembling as I manage to speak. **"Da, I… Please…"**

 _Do you approve?_ I do not know if it's what I'm begging for, what I'm asking him, but my father merely smiles fondly.

" **Find happiness. And remember that… I…"** his voice is fading, his eyelids closing, and I cannot help but desperately shake him, feeling like a small child again.

" **That you what? Da? Da!"**

" _ **Love… Always.**_ " It's muttered barely above a whisper, and I see tears in his eyes as well as the close, a lone droplet running down the side of his face as he falls entirely still.

I let out a breath that turns into a sob when I choke on it, and I bury my face into his chest, not caring for the bloods sluggishly dripping from his body or the disarray of his beard, not minding the beads pressing into my skin or the wet cloth that I clutch at as I grieve all over again.

 _He should have stayed dead. Should never have made me come here. Should never have made me kill him. Should have COME BACK HOME…_

But I have no use for should-haves or might-have-beens.

The double doors slam open and I hear distant shouting, but my ears ring and I refuse to move away even as I hear the hissing and clanking of the bridge as it reassembles itself.

" **What in Sithis' name is going on here?"** Someone yells, before drawing in a sharp breath. **"Head Researcher Kvaldi is..? Murder!"**

A muscle in my face twitches and I tense when more people come running, followed by cries and angry demands for explanations. Even so, none of them come within range of the axe that I'd reflexively clutched with a white-knuckled grip at the approach of the first stranger. The cacophony of noise bounces off the walls, deafeningly loud and my headache hates them all with the force of a thousand suns for it.

" **WILL YOU FUCKING SHUT UP?!"** I finally yell out at the top of my lungs, swiveling to face the sniveling bastards that are far too loud and far too cowardly with murder in my eyes.

As one, they flinch back, and I realize that I must make quite a sight – shirtless, shoeless, covered in blood not my own, a feral snarl on my face and a weapon in my hand.

I slump before forcing myself to stand on wobbly knees. **"He said N'dak would be able to help me. He left a note."** I keep it short and sweet, trying not to show how dearly I'd just lay down onto the inviting stone floor and sleep for a few days. I don't have that kind of time if I still have to find my way to Raldbthar and the tower of Mzark.

The researcher who first spoke to me when I, ah, 'entered' Kagrenzel steps forwards and towards the table, rummaging around for a bit as I sink down into the chair – _my father's chair. I killed my father. Oh my gods. How is this my fucking life? I want this mess to end already…_

Sharp obsidian eyes turn to me. An unusual color, but a close match to Er'thk and his onyx eyes. Perhaps they are related. Gold is far more common a shade in the Dwemer race. Gold, green and blue, with the occasional purple.

" **Kvaldi indeed left a message. It appears he anticipated your coming and what it would mean… Fjaldi, son of Kvaldi, son of Saarimda. Aye. I believe I can help you."** The Dwemer, whom I assume to be N'dak, gestures absently to the gathered scholars, apprentices, and occasional Falmer in chains.

" **Consider this handled. Prepare the funeral arrangements for our Head, and send missives to Raldbthar and Mzinchaleft. Tell the former that I will be visiting them and returning an artifact. Tell the latter that we have need of Rothko's brat."**

As the scholars hurry to disperse and cross the bridge again before it disappears, not wanting to linger after the dark glare that N'dak shoots them when they don't move immediately, the scholar turns to me. There's sympathy there, in the curl of his mouth and the lines of his eyes. He wordlessly hands me the note and returns his attentions to the table.

When I am only capable of blankly staring at him, my eyes moving between the living Dwemer and my father's corpse, the Mer lets out a soft sigh, shoulders slumping a bit.

" **Read it. I will arrange for clothes, a meal and a place for you to stay the night. We set out in the morning."**

 _So I am supposed to join this complete stranger on a trip across the land that I don't know anything about, thousands of years before I first travelled them?_

With pursed lips and a muddled mind, I turn my attentions to the note my father left behind.

" _ **N'dak,**_

 _ **Son of Er'dak**_

 _ **Son of Nerada**_

 _ **I have looked into the mirror and found it looking back at me. My visions have increased in frequency and I fear I may be losing my mind. I will keep the Elder Scroll here for my son when he comes – and he will, of this I have no doubt, for I have foreseen that too.**_

 _ **When he is here, he will kill me. Do not grow angry, old friend, for he had neither the intention nor the will to do so. It is necessary to save this world, even if we cannot be saved.**_

 _ **My son, my Uzfakuh… he is Drak'nakaraat Threinmûr, do you know? He has saved many people, and done great things. He made some mistakes, aye, but do we not all do the same? I have never been more proud to be a father. To be his father, and every day my heart grows wearier with what I have stolen from him.**_

 _ **Let him bear the Elder Scroll, N'dak, and take him with you to Fal Zhardum Din. The Scroll will not feel the hands of old Mzark again, for my son has greater need of it that he and his brutish band of scholars do. His questions or requests may appear strange, but I ask, for the good of this plane, that you answer inquiries he makes.**_

 _ **Take care of my Uzfakuh, old friend, as my final request.**_

 _ **May Arnknurlaf guide your steps,**_

 _ **Kvaldi.**_

 _ **Son of Kvidvr**_

 _ **Son of Aldva**_

 _ **If I am not given the chance to tell him the truth, will you do so in my stead? There are none I would entrust this to, other than yourself. Tell him how I love him so, and how he is forgiven. That I will always be proud to call him my son.**_ **"**


	64. Past to Present

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Time travel, sickness.**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _If I am not given the chance to tell him the truth, will you do so in my stead? There are none I would entrust this to, other than yourself. Tell him how I love him so, and how he is forgiven. That I will always be proud to call him my son."_

Chapter 64 – Past to Present

N'dak stuffs me in dark blue travelling robes that grant no protections what-so-ever and whisks me off the next morning.

They're heavy, and uncomfortable, but all my concerns about personal discomforts leave me when I get the chance to see the world as it was in the past – in the time that I would have, but didn't, stay in.

The middle of the First Era may as well have been a whole other plane of existence compared to the Fourth Era I'd come to know and love. Everything seems wilder, more untamed than it would be in the future. There's no roads at all, not paved ones at least. We follow the tracks left behind by the wildlife, and encounter beasts twice as large as a regular sabercat. It's breathtaking.

After travelling in silence for a while, I take to observing my travel companions. N'dak is dressed in robes similar to mine, but of a rusty red color, with geometrical patterns down the sleeves and a cowl pulled over his head. Only his beard can be seen underneath, tucked partially into his silk-like, thick waistband. He carries a pack with supplies, just like I am, and uses a Dwemer metal staff that, by the spikes on the top, can double as a weapon and a walking stick.

Er'thk is also here with us. As the older Mer's apprentice, he was forced into coming along. Law states, after all, that apprentices cannot leave their masters and vice versa. He wears a shawl that covers all of his hair including his beard, likely to avoid any sand or other bits and pieces ending up in it. His robes are identical to mine, and he fingers the hilt of a Dwemer dagger nervously, twitching at every noise.

I have to admit, this strange land makes me uneasy too. _Even though it shouldn't feel so strange to me._

" **Watch the skies rather than my student, Fjaldi. Those blasted Wyrms can and will attempt to attack if they come across us, and we have no Centurion guards.** "

I nod at the old scholar and scan the clear blue skies briefly. _Right – the last dragons were only killed near the end of Tiber Septim's reign, in the beginning of the Third Era. They'll be out and about now – I wonder if their overly aggressive attitudes towards Dragonborn have changed in the past few thousand years._

Somehow, I doubt it.

" **Is there a Nordic tomb around here, one called Ansilvund?** " I ask after another long pause. N'dak considers my question seriously, but eventually shakes his head, tapping his staff against the dirt rhythmically as we make our way down the mountain.

" **I have heard of no such tomb. The closest settlement is Ruunvald, an old temple. Forelhost, further south, has been abandoned for a long time. It used to house members of the Dragon Cult. To the North, there is Windhelm. Its splendor may astound you now, but let me say – it will be decrepit in a few years. Shoddy architecture."**

 _Holy shit._

Riften doesn't even exist yet. Nor do Kynesgrove or Shor's Stone or any other settlements that I've been to. This is so weird.

From what N'dak tells me, we are to travel via Mzulft, heading straight for the Great Lift of Raldbthar into the bowels of the earth. We'll avoid Windhelm, but will still have a chance to see it briefly. I have been to all three of those locations back in the future, where they were weathered and old, not the thriving cities they are now. I do not think I will be quite able to reconcile the cities with their future counterparts, if what I have already seen is any indication.

Mzulft, as expected, is thriving. We walk up the stone staircases, perfectly kept, and are greeted merrily by a few guards standing on the tower. A few Animunculi scatter about, mainly Spider Workers carrying bars of metal in and out of the storage room towards the main city. A few Dwemer women are chattering over by a fountain, one of them washing dished and another gathering leftovers from a picnic. Their children rush past us as we move to the main gates, laughing amongst each other.

A caravan is set up outside, an old man leisurely gnawing on an apple and sharing a pipe with the Dwemer next to him. Both of them watch us as we walk by, the man's eye lingering on me for a little longer than necessary.

The guards in the entrance hall allow us in easily enough – but we're not allowed past the indoor gates and the guard chambers.

" **We've kept some beds free for you, N'dak, old chap. But you know the drill – nobody gets in unless they know their traps.** " One of them says apologetically, waving us through to the place where we'll sleep tonight. We're greeted with joy and mischief and laughing Dwemer in practical, form-fitting cloth – for anything else would easily catch on fire or blades from their traps.

The guards want to know all about our journey – though none of them ask where we're from. Some curious glances are send my way, but I dully ignore them and sip a cup of tomato juice. I don't even like tomato juice, but it's more filling than water.

As I sit and watch, the rooms seem to shiver and overlap, twisting and turning the lines between past and future blurry. A guard dressed in warm reds and oranges, joking with his fellows and poking fun at a chagrined Er'thk, stands next to the shimmery figure of a Synod researcher's old corpse, flesh rotting, chunks of robes missing and the larvae of flies making their home inside of it.

I have to blink and shake my head for the scene to clear and the dead researcher, ruins and bloodstains from my memories to fade, leaving me with a strange vertigo that has N'dak inquire after my health.

" **I… It's fine. It may be better if we walked a bit faster tomorrow, though.** "

He nods solemnly. **"Aye, very well. But we can only walk so fast, Fjaldi. I will speak to Er'thk."**

I can only shake my head worriedly and urge my travel companions to cover more ground the next day.

On the road between Mzulft and Windhelm, which we walk on foot, similar incidents occur. My headache never quite seems to fade completely, waking up with the dull throbbing taken as a sign of my being alive rather than a minor annoyance.

Nothing can stop the pain. Especially not with the abysmal state of medicine in this time.

Healing potions are rare, the art of Alchemy not nearly as refined as the future will make it, distilling ingredients a luxury for only the rich and scholarly. The Restoration school of magic doesn't even exist yet.

Tea made out of all the blue mountain flowers I can pick is as much as I can get my hands on.

The world shifts and distorts around me, dizzying and nauseating. Sometimes I will see ghosts of animals that aren't really there, sometimes I feel like we are the ghosts, treading on the paths of the future, even though they run different courses from what I remember.

At some point, I dodge a carriage of a Khajit caravan, only to find it pass through me like a cold breath of air. Er'thk scoffs, but I see him giving me sideways glances, wary. My sickly skin and the bruising under my eyes from my awful sleep must not add to my image. If not for N'dak, I'm sure the younger Dwemer would have abandoned me in the wilds on grounds of insanity.

I can't help it. Every time I close my eyes, the symbols on the mirror my father studied dance in front of my eyes, keeping me from rest. They flicker bright and blue in neon sharpness, and I can't understand them no matter how I try.

I'm sure it did something to me.

Maybe it even brought me back in time.

The mystery and misery only serve to make me more snappish and withdrawn. I can see that N'dak is worried in the way he coaxes more and more mountain flower tea past my lips. The red ones seem to alleviate the symbols – the ones that restore magica. I'm… Not sure what to think of it.

I have no magica reserves, after all.

Riften hold cannot seem to decide if it's a volcanic wasteland with an ash-grey sky and no life to be found amidst its toxic waters, or if it's a vibrant place with giant encampments and mountain flowers in abundance, relaxing hot springs at every turn. I vaguely remember a hunter's camp set up near the best places to relax, but N'dak and Er'thk don't want to stop.

" **The air is poison, and the fumes are flammable. We cannot risk a fire, or risk a camp."** Er'thk snaps at me when I suggest a break.

I hadn't even noticed the thick stench of sulfur and rotten eggs until he mentioned it. In the back of my mind, I start to wonder whether or not this is all even real.

The flora will sway in the wind where there is none to be found, change from blossoming to winter-dead, or stay eerily still even as the rain and storms pelt my icy skin.

 _Which is real? Am I in an illusion?_

The voices of Er'thk and N'dak grow faint and then stronger, sometimes I miss entire conversations and sometimes I hear nearby Bosmer hunters complain about missing a shot, but when I look, nobody is there.

 _Or am I the only thing that isn't real? Am I in the past, living a lie? Am I in the future, a Dragonborn? What is real? Why can't I tell the difference? Or is it all real at the same moment, in different times?_

More than once, we are forced to halt because the pain in my head becomes too much and I lose whichever food I ate, or because the vertigo becomes so great that I have to sit down before passing out.

I can't keep down anything more substantial than thin soups and broths. Dangerous, when on the roads and reliant on what you hunt.

N'dak frets and worries over me, and I have to look him in the eye and know that he will die soon. I feel sick, and not just with worry. Even the red mountain flowers don't help enough. It's like there is a steady drain on my body, on my mind.

 _Is N'dak even real? Am I just imagining him? He will be dead with all the other Dwemer – or is he dead, has he been dead all this time?_

 _I don't know anymore._

Windhelm is a hub of activity that becomes almost too much for me, even at a distance. The stones are straight and new and orderly, but they are worn with age and messily placed and in ruin. A few people mill about yet dozens of traders make their dealings here, an army is building on the steps but they are empty. Once I manage to get my head sorted and firmly in the past, firmly in the time where I currently exist as more than a pale ghost, I manage to marvel at it and be saddened by how far the Windhelm I know has fallen into disrepair. The Grey Quarter doesn't even exist yet, the Dunmer not chased from their homes.

 _Dunmer, or Chimer? Which is real?_

The city does, at some point, become too much for me, and three days during which I am too sick to walk are wasted at a lumber mill outside the city that is not on the right side of the river to me.

I should still be in bed, as a matter of fact – the sickness, whatever it is, is not going to go away mysteriously and I am rather pressed for time as it is.

Instinctively, I know that it will go away alongside the past-future mirages, once I am back in the time I now feel I belong in. _If I want to live, if I want to remember what reality is, I MUST get back to the Fourth Era. Fast._

Throughout the entire week and a half of travel, the Elder Scroll, my prize, my weapon against Alduin when I make it back home, is strapped securely to my back, getting not a few considering glances. But I don't let my sickness keep me from cutting off wandering fingers with my axes.

 _My sense of time is completely gone. Days of travel feel like they pass in minutes, hours of talking stretch out to weeks._

The Great Lift at Raldbthar is a welcome sight for my weary body, but I know I still have to go a little further.

 _Eleven days down. Three more to go. Only to the tower now. Ugh, I wish we hadn't been held up when I collapsed in Windhelm._

 _I have three days to make it to the Tower Mzark, last time, the Falmer and Chaurus made it a four day trip. Now, my sickness is slowing me down… I suppose, when push comes to shove, Er'thk is strong enough to carry me, annoying as he is._

Er'thk, as far as companions go, is an annoying little shit not used to roughing it out in the wilds. He is quick to anger, disregards 'illogical' emotions, has zero empathy or sympathy for my apparent illness, is sour-faced at the first drop of rain and barely lifts a finger unless N'dak tells him to do something.

N'dak, on the other hand, is a mother hen on par with Ondolemar on his worst days. Protective and continuously looking out for me, yelling whenever I confront a wild animal on the road rather than let him and his feeble magic take care of the threat. We both know I am more combat capable even now, with sunken cheeks, pale skin and trembling fingers. He tells me stories to help me get my mind of my headaches and other assorted inconveniences.

My father befriended him early on as a researcher, and it was sheer coincidence that they met again in Kagrenzel. I… appreciate his concern and thoughtfulness, and feel guilty that I keep thinking of the fact that Marcurio is a better storyteller than the aging Dwemer walking gamely next to me.

 _They feel like ghosts sometimes, like I can reach out and move through them. But I keep my hands to myself, because if they are ghosts and this is an illusion, it is not an illusion in which I want to be alone._

I very carefully do not consider that my current travel companions will die soon. All the Dwemer will die soon. All the people I see now will be long dead by the time I come out of the other end of the Time Stream – assuming my body survives the strain of the trip.

I cannot deny the consideration that I suffer from some sort of deterioration as a result of my second accidental time travel. It explains the visions in which future and past overlap, it explains the vertigo and unsettling feeling of not having my feet on solid ground. It would also explain the headaches… Partially. My father - _The cursed mirror's invading of my mind_ has surely left its scars.

Meeting with a Dwemer mind healer would not be remiss before I leave for the future, since none exist there. But I know that if I want to make it back there, I cannot afford to miss any time.

 _I must survive. I must go back. I need to know what is real, if this is real._

N'dak has clearly been to Fal Zhardum Din before, as he strides across the stone paths with certainty. Bemusedly, I notice that not much about the underground cavern system has changed, with the exception of the activity. Falmer and Dwemer are fighting a war, something I should not so casually disregard and which has Er'thk on high alert and maximum irritation level even as it wars with his awe of Blackreach.

We only come across one scuffle, where the Dwemer forces seem to have the upper hand, and N'dak bodily drags both his apprentice and myself away from it as fast as his untrained legs can carry him.

" **We're almost there now. Come on boys, we do not want to get caught up in this mess. The guards will take care of it soon enough."**

I'm not so sure about that, but keep my mouth shut even as we keep moving, allowing me to finally lay eyes on the Tower of Mzark – gleaming, new, and all-too-imposing.

It is superimposed by a vision of the future, but for once, the double vision doesn't hurt, as nothing has changed.

 _Nothing changes in the cities of stone._

My sense of time is still completely off the charts, and my frequent inquiries as to what time or date it is must have irritated Er'thk and N'dak both, though the latter isn't so vocal about any of his displeasures, preferring to keep the high ground and not resort to petty barbs like his apprentice.

It feels like mere minutes to move from one side of Fal Zhardum Din to the other, but I intellectually know that it has been days of jogging and rushing and hurrying.

 _Today._

I have to go back to the future today. Call Vulthuryol.

But when I step forwards onto the bridge towards the tower entrance where I first met the guardian of Blackreach, two guards stop me. For a moment, all I can do is stare at them both confusedly, because they appear as translucent specters that should not be able to poke me with their shields.

I blink twice, and they solidify. I take a reluctant step back, swaying on my feet ever-so-slightly. N'dak wouldn't have noticed, but these Mer were trained, and their eyes narrow warily.

" **This is as far as you go, Kinsmer."** One of them states slowly. I somehow gather the necessary energy to glare.

" **I do not need to enter the tower. I need only stand on the bridge."** I ground out between gritted teeth, ignoring the swelling ache in my skull.

N'dak places a hand on my shoulder in support. **"Come now, Mer! Let the poor boy do his thing. Old Mzark will have his toy by the end of the day, and that's all that matters, right?"**

" **Unauthorized personnel are forbidden from crossing the bridge."**

Er'thk takes a few smart steps backwards when my face darkens as it did when we faced an ancient type of wolf, twice as large as the ones in the Fourth Era and with twice as many massive canines, hunting in packs of four or more.

N'dak's grip on my shoulder tightens, though his voice becomes strained. **"Now, gentlemer, please. He is the son of my blood-sworn brother, and his only request was that I brought his son to where he wished to go. You would not deny a Mer his dying wish..?"**

The guards are not deterred, merely tightening the grips on their weapons. I can see their eyes move to my only visible scars **"The boy is here now. The request has been granted. You have fulfilled his wish."**

 _Crap, I'm going to have to call on Vulthuryol from right here, then. With all these Dwemer watching me._

And indeed, there were more gathering to watch the unfolding spectacle as N'dak spoke to the stone-faced guards, convincingly but not enough.

The anger overtakes my common sense with a fierceness that is terrifying in its own right.

I tilt my head to the side slightly, seizing up the two heavy armor-clad warriors. Even with glass war axes, I cannot break straight through their defenses, or at least not fast enough to keep them from calliing potential backup. No physical weapon would be able to deal enough damage in one go, and there are anti-magica enchantments on those shields…

 _But the Thu'um is not the same type of magic._

I let it build in my throat, a rumble that has the stonework shiver and N'dak let go of me immediately. I straighten myself up to my full height, the Elder Scroll on my back gleaming in the low light, the guards shifting their weapons to a ready position.

" **I am Drak'nakaraat Threinmûr."** I intone darkly, taking half a step forwards so their blades are digging lightly into my chest, my lips baring into a challenging growl. The power of the Thu'um echoes in my voice and all around me. Dark spots dance in my vision and my skin is burning with fever.

" **You will move aside and allow me access to the bridge, or you** _ **will be moved.**_ **"**

They change their grips to an attack position, far too slow for a trained assassin _not_ to keep up with, and I inhale sharply for a Shout, an haphazard strategy forming in my mind. A stab of pain shoots through my head and the world threatens to tilt on its axis.

" **Step down, stranger, or we will arrest you!"**

"FUS RO DAH!"

The Thu'um echoes like a thunderclap, sending the two heavy armors clanking and clashing and _flying_ across the bridge. With a self-satisfied grin, I walk after them, up to the two golden doors. Every breath is a battle, every expansion of my aching lungs a victory.

 _Time to see how to get the fuck out of here before I'm_ really _arrested and dragged before the Council._

"VULTHURYOL! Bo Het, Wuth Fadon!" I call into the blue-cast darkness, my Voice making the very ceiling tremble with its force.

 _Come, old friend. Come, so I may get out of here and fulfill my promise to you._

It takes only a few seconds for an answering roar to echo throughout the entire caverns, large wings swooping down overhead, sending Dwemer screaming and scrambling, either for their weapons or for their feet to carry them away from the large dragon that descends upon the bridge like the personification of Sithis himself.

My teeth rattle and it takes all I have to keep myself from falling to pieces and vomiting all over the floor in another bout of sickness, the edges of my vision darkening.

"Drem Yol Lok, Ysmir." Far too knowing eyes light up as they see me, for a lack of a better word, and even in my sorry state, I find it within myself to grin.

" **I told you I would do it."** I cannot help but be smug about it, and the dragon, far younger now, grins.

"Geh. **And so you did. Now it is time to send you forwards, along with what has always been here.** "

His voice echoes and thunders, and the world shifts into a past-future vision again, the mob of horrified and shocked Dwemer fading and flickering, interspersed with the appearance of a lone humanoid figure standing at the other end of the bridge, waiting.

I make eye contact with N'dak and give him a helpless smile. Er'thk has fainted.

Then the force of a Shout and a Dragon Soul hit me all at once with the power of a magically enforced ebony Warhammer mid-swing, and existence itself fades into purple light and a mix of colors I have never seen before. _My body feels stretched and compressed at the same time, and I want to breathe but can't, want to vomit but I can't, want to fade into unconsciousness but can't, want to see or feel or hear anything beyond the rushing of blood in my ears bu 't…_

Then I am spat out into a whirling tornado and feel a sharp tug behind my gut before reality reasserts itself, snapping into place with an abruptness that has me topple over on the spot.

 _I never want to be conscious during time travel again. Never want to time travel again, period. I don't think I'll survive the experience._

The dirty, moss-overgrown stone comes up to meet me as I fall, but I find myself in a pair of waiting arms instead.

The world is tilting and moving underneath my feet, but my vision stays steady, stays in _one time_ only, stays _real_ , and before I know it, I am weeping in relief.

" _ **Goodbye… And thank you, Ysmir."**_ Sounds a distant voice, fading with every word. Then a second one interjects, far more frantic.

 _I'm back. I'm back. I'm home._

"Fjaldi? Fjaldi? Are you okay? You just appeared and the lights-! And the dragon who saved me is-! A dragon saved me, I-! I just- What's going on? Can you stand? Can you hear me? _Fjaldi_?!"

I shut my eyes and let myself go limp against the solid chest clad in mage robes belonging to the one whose arms are holding me securely in place, the sickness I'd been feeling increase over week finally abating, though I will probably need a bit of rest before even considering myself at _half_ power again.

 _I have to know. He's not dead, but I have to know. Must know it now._

Drowsy and still in no little bit of pain, I manage to croak out a question: "You're not dead? **Not another illusion send to punish me?** You're…real? **"**

Marcurio sounds offended, voice sharp and _there_ and – and – _present,_ somehow, not like the voices of ghosts that have haunted me for what feels like an eternity, and it's _the most beautiful thing I've ever heard._

"Of course I'm real! You're…"

 _Such a shameful thing that I cannot even bring myself to listen to the rest of his sentence._ My lips twitch.

I bring my head up with a momentous effort, watching his eyebrows twitch in concern at me and falls silent as he takes in my no doubt vacant eyes and dazed expression. I give him a silly grin. " **I missed you, you asshole."**

Then I pass out.

I wish that wasn't such a common trend.


	65. At Ease

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Exposition chapter. Transition chapter. Basically not a whole lot happens but I needed to write some fluff.**

 **A/N: from now on, updates will be more sporadic as a whole. Life sucks at the moment.**

 _ **Last time…**_

 _I bring my head up with a momentous effort, watching his eyebrows twitch in concern at me as he takes in my no doubt vacant eyes and dazed expression. I give him a silly grin. "I love you." Then I pass out._

Chapter 65 – At Ease

When I wake up, I consider that the phenomena of me passing out after I overexert myself is becoming far too common a thing. I should probably look into that – either by taking it easier or by… well, I have no idea.

Then I consider I wouldn't mind the phenomena as much if I woke up as I do now every single time it happens. Warm. Safe. Held by my lover.

"We're at Nightgate inn, love. Don't panic, please. The innkeeper is cross enough with me already."

 _Why would I panic? I've slept and I feel rested, I'm being held by you and feel safe at last._

… _Even though my mouth tastes like Riften's sewer, my stomach has been grumbling for the past five minutes, and I desperately need to piss._

 _Hmm… But why would I panic? I'm back in the present and I have the Elder Scroll…_

 _The Scroll!_

I shoot upright as if struck by a lightning bolt, my eyes dancing wildly around the room, taking in the details of the wardrobe, the nightstands, and the door – next to which the Elder Scroll is leaning innocently against the wall, not at all looking like the cause of an almost-heart attack. I can only take so much. If I'd lost the Elder Scroll _now_ …

 _I would… probably have jumped off of the Throat of the World, Alduin be damned._

My entire body sags with profound relief. _Thank the gods that all of that into-the-past bullshit wasn't in vain._

Marcurio sits up next to me with quite the wild case of bedhead, bandages still peeking out from underneath his sleeping clothes, consisting of a loose hanging grey shirt and dark leggings. The mage huffs, running fingers through the bird's nest on his head and scratching at the stubble forming on his chin.

"I'm glad we've finally found that damn thing. Took long enough, and you've done nothing but stress about it for _weeks…_ You know, I almost tied you to a bed to ensure that you got some proper rest."

I turn to face him with a smile, drinking in the sight of his face and presence with relish. I'm… unable to resist. Ignoring all the bodily unease, I sit on my knees in front of him and place one hand on his face, carefully tracing patterns with my thumb, my eyes softening at feeling the firm, prickly skin underneath my fingertips. My other hand helps the mage rid his hair of the worst of the tangles, and I use the contact to ground myself firmly back in reality.

I'm so messed up.

I need this contact almost more than I need air.

 _This is real. Marcurio is here. I'm back in the present. He's alive. He's here. I'm here. This is REAL._

It repeats itself over and over again in my head like a holy mantra, and I'm breathing far too harshly as I dig my fingers into his clothes but Marcurio doesn't even care. He just smiles understandingly and wipes the sweat away, gently coaxing me out of bed. He murmurs soothingly, keeping firm hands on my shoulders and staying within my direct line of sight.

 _Of all the people to walk Tamriel, I'm truly fortunate to have found him._

Cautiously, he informs me of what happened as well.

"You've been asleep for three days now. I'm glad you didn't start screaming when you woke up – I've had enough trouble convincing the innkeeper I wasn't planning to kidnap or murder you as it is. I've used all the healing magic I could on you, but there's a disturbance in your head that I can't quite get, and I'm not confident enough in my skills to deal with it. Luckily, I only had to wait a few hours for you to show up in Blackreach. The tower doors wouldn't open for me no matter what I tried."

 _Three days? A few hours?_

 _A few… Hours? I… Hours?_

I blink up at him owlishly. "But I… I haven't seen you in months. I thought you were dead for _months._ "

 _Is he telling me it has only been a few hours for him? What time did I get back? What day is it? What time is it? What YEAR is it, even? He has to be kidding, it has in no way, shape or form been mere hours since I last saw him._

I wince at a dull stab of pain in my skull even as Marcurio eyes me warily. When I glance away in guilt – _I abandoned you. Oh gods, I abandoned you. I could have waited, could have waited and it would only have been a few hours and I wouldn't have fallen so far, wouldn't have thrown myself into the Dark Brotherhood so recklessly, wouldn't have had to regret, regret, regret…_ \- he merely sighs.

Then places a butterfly kiss on my forehead.

"It's barely four in the morning, Fjaldi. Far too early to think deeply about serious matters… How about we talk about it later? Get some fresh air. Then, you're coming back here and get some food. I have a boiled crème treat tucked away in my pack, wrapped up just for you, alright?"

I nod, and he ruffles my hair with a smile.

Marcurio is acting far softer than he usually would, a gentle side that I haven't much had the pleasure of seeing before. I let him guide me around by my hand without a noise of complaint. Any other moment, _any_ other situation, and I'd be mortified. Horrified. Embarrassed beyond belief. But… I'm lethargic, my body heavy, my mind fuzzy and too full of conflicting and confused thoughts to process half of what's going on.

For a breath-taking, terrifying moment, I wonder if Marcurio is just an illusion, the warmth of his hand and the heat of the fire, the robes scratching my skin and the darkened inn around us.

I stumble, and when the mage moves to catch me, I accidentally bite on the inside of my cheek. Blood pools into my mouth, but rather than further disorienting me, the pain and the taste helps, in a morbid way. A reminder that this is real, and I'm no longer caught in the past-future haze that fell over me in Kagrenzel.

 _Er'thk and N'dak are dead. The carriage driver is dead. The people from Windhelm I saw were dead. The guards of Mzulft are dead, the guards that kept me at the bridge in Fal Zhardum Din, dead. My father… Dead._

Marcurio opens the door, and the icy cold winds hit me square in the face. It's like a bitch slap, and serves as a wake-up call harsh enough to wrack my entire body with violent shivers.

"You'll be fine?"

"Aye. Just… Needed some fresh air." I almost giggle hysterically, but refrain from it as I'm left outside in the cold as Marcurio goes to draw a bath for me. The innkeeper will likely have opinions about that later, but for the moment, it's no concern of mine. My bladder, however, is.

I pull my robes up to my chin and wade out into the snow, my breath solidifying into tiny crystals, little flecks of snow clinging to my eyelashes almost immediately, and my fingers protesting against the cold.

It's _wonderful._

Taking deep, calming breaths, I can outright _feel_ the frozen air as it enters my lungs and leaves me in a warmer _whoosh,_ leaving my mind clear and my senses alert.Skyrim's skies spread out endlessly above me, and I spare a precious moment looking at the moons and stars – the only thing unchanged in either the Past or the Now.

 _I'm home._

Another shiver brings me back out of my musings, and I take care of my business as quickly as possible before hurrying back into the inn at the highest speed I can muster through the knee-deep white powder determined to impede my movement.

Once I'm fed, watered and out of my bath, buried in a thick sabercat fur on the bed with a comfortably lounging Marcurio, I feel like a Mer reborn.

"I love you." I mumble in between sips of a hot cup of lavender tea.

"I know. Love you too." The mage grins in return, raising a playful eyebrow at me. "I take it that you're feeling a little better now?"

I hum in agreement, closing my eyes and breathing in the hot steam rising from the mug. I'm not about to ask him where he got hot lavender tea when sunrise is still a few hours away, but I do want to ask him _how he is even alive._

"So," I prompt after a long pause in which we both gather our thoughts in the semi-darkness, the door closed and only two bedside candles lighting the room, "Three days?"

Marcurio drains his mug and sets it aside, rolling over onto his back, eagle-spread. In contrast, I'm huddled up with my knees drawn to my chest, taking up as little space as I possibly can, a habit from curling up in unassuming corners for hours, waiting for my assassination contracts to pass by, for a contact to show up, or for a lonely night to pass without incident.

I focus my attention on my boyfriend as he explains. "Yeah. Three days. After I, Uhm, fell -" he winces, a hand moving to his chest, and guilt makes my throat close up all over again, but I bite my lip and bear it. Marcurio takes a deep breath. "After I fell, I ended up dropping into the water. I was lucky the wound didn't get infected from it, or that the arrow that hit me wasn't poisoned… Anyway, I don't remember how I got out of that lake I fell in. All I know is that, at some point, I woke up to a dragon staring me in the face."

He snickers uneasily, dragging his hands down his face. "I was spooked, to say the least. All around me there was not much beyond a dragon, dead Falmer, and a tent that held their stash of potions. So I dragged myself to it and made sure I healed up enough to survive the trip back to you guys. I made it to the tower…"

A breath of hesitation as he frowns. "I… I thought you'd all left me for dead, at first. But then the dragon came back to me, and bid me to wait. I actually held quite a civil conversation with him. Vulthuryol, I mean. He was a bit hard to follow, but apparently you were to arrive any moment. So I sat with him and waited. For hours."

"Then…" he continues, wondering, as if he cannot quite believe it himself, "Then there was a flash of light. Just that. Light. Vulthuryol jumped forwards and became part of the light. It was too blinding to see what was going on… Next thing I know, Vulthuryol is nothing more than a skeleton, and you're standing there, all wobbly legs and weird clothes."

The mage gestures into the air with his hands. "So I caught you when you fell, and you were… Completely out of it. Babbling in Dwemeris, feverish, sick, not seeing straight. Terrified the shit out of me. So I hauled you over my shoulder and got out of that damned cavern system, dragged you all the way here… and the rest is history."

I give myself some time to process all of the information his story gives me, as well as to get over the immense welling of emotions in my chest.

 _We abandoned him to die. Would have abandoned him to die. I owe Vulthuryol a lot, it seems._

"So," Marcurio interrupts the silence, side-eyeing me.

"What's your story?"

I let out a humorless snort, tiredly dragging my fingers through my hair, rubbing the back of my head and not meeting his eyes.

"You're going to find it hard to believe. And you're going to like it even less."

Sharp brown eyes try and search my own, and smiles with too many teeth, but while his eyes are wary, they do not show the intentions to hurt or judge.

Then he pins me to the bed by lying down on top of me, pushing the breath out of my lungs.

"And you, my dear, are _most empathically NOT_ leaving this bed until I know _everything_. I know who you are. I know what you are. Tell me the story, and let _me_ be the judge of my own opinions."

He's not willing to compromise on this, and really…

 _I owe him an explanation._

And so, haltingly, carefully, mindful of listening ears at the door to the bedroom… I confess _everything_ to him.

 _If he wants to end our relationship over this, I will not blame him. If he still wants me, with all I have done… Heh, then I deserve him even less._

By the time I am done I want no more secrets between the two of us. Secrets and lies have ruined too much for me.

I talk until my voice is hoarse, and then I talk some more. From my dealings with Elisif the Fair and my jaunts up to High Hrothgar to the assassination of the Emperor. From the time travel and the journey with N'dak and Er'thk to the confrontation with my own father, how I killed him. I even dig up the crumpled note still in my pocket – alongside the Dwemer key, my clothes and the Elder Scroll, it survived the way back.

Marcurio doesn't even glance at it, keeping his eyes trained on my face.

Awkwardly, I trail off when there is nothing more to tell. "Right, so… Yeah… And that's how I ended up on the bridge. You know… Uh, you know the rest of it. Yeah. So. That's it."

He lets out a humorous snort. "That's it? You just told me that you time travelled to the first era and back, killed your own father who borrowed an Elder Scroll because he _wanted to see you_ , not to mention that you will kill the Emperor, the _Emperor!_ On New year's day. _Months from now._ And the only thing you have to say to all that is _'that's it'_?"

"You're… not mad at me?" I squeak.

Marcurio rolls his eyes and sits up, effectively straddling me though he doesn't seem to notice the compromising position.

"Only you, Fjaldi. _Only you_ would get into shit _this_ crazy and get out not just without any disfiguring injuries, but with _souvenirs._ No, I'm not mad at you. I already knew you were part of the Dark Brotherhood before, and I can hardly blame you for not wanting to waste any time on getting the Elder Scroll, which was the primary objective, and I'm not so arrogant that I think myself more important than the entirety of Tamriel."

I scowl at him, sitting up so that we're face to face and I can rest my head on his shoulder, trying desperately not to die of the sheer relief coursing through my veins. I curl my arms around his neck.

"You're more important than the rest of Tamriel to _me_." I grumble snippily under my breath.

Marcurio just laughs. The asshole.

Our next stop will be High Hrothgar – we can use my journal to ensure that I don't run into my past self. It takes a bit of struggling and arguing, but we decide against changing anything about the timeline since I – no, wait, since my past self is mostly concerned with Dark Brotherhood business and will be out of the way provided we stay clear of Falkreath, Whiterun, Solitude and to a lesser extent, Markarth and Riften.

It doesn't leave us with a lot of places to stay for the next months, but perhaps Jarl Idgrod might be willing to sell us a house. If not, then we will have to crash at Winterhold and hide ever so often. Morthal is one of the only places I've largely avoided after all, and we'll need a base of operations out of the way.

I don't even want to contemplate what would happen if I met my past self by accident. Time is already destabilizing, if the rumors the innkeeper gives us are true. I can't believe I missed something like this last time around.

People are disappearing. The dead have become more and more active, even in the Halls of the Dead they cannot rest. Dragons keep coming back to life and danger is as common as cabbages. Caravans vanish, rivers are flowing backwards, and the people of Winterhold swear up and down that they saw their entire city restored for all of two seconds under the moons' light. Markarth has rumors of Dwemer songs echoing through their halls, and there are ghosts at Helgen.

Skyrim is in chaos.

 _Time's run out._


	66. Dragonrend

Guide:

 **Dwemeris**

 _Thoughts_

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

 **Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4**

 **Chapter Warning(s): Alduin. Trauma.**

 **A/N: Super-irregular updates, but hey at least they're there.**

 **Translation guide:**

 _Stin: freedom_

 _Dii: my/mine_

 _Ahmul: husband_

 _Fahdon: friend_

 _Kogaan: blessing_

 _Pogaas: much/many_

 _ **Last time…**_

 _Skyrim is in chaos – Time's run out._

Chapter 66 – Dragonrend

The road to High Hrothgar, once we decide to get a move on, only helps to show me further how severe the situation has become in my absence. Even though… I don't remember any of this happening while I was doing Dark Brotherhood jobs. Surely, I'd have remembered rocks falling from the sky as if crumbling down a mountainside, in the middle of an open field?

Surely I'd know if entire caravans vanished?

Surely, I'd have been aware of the seasons moving as they pleased, no longer sticking to their natural order?

It's Frostfall, but as we pass by Korvanjund, there is no thick layer of snow and ice to be seen – flowers are blooming, and sabercat cubs are frolicking through them, heedless of our presence. Their parents are nowhere to be seen.

It's Frostfall – the midst of winter, but at the Loreius farm a bewildered couple is bringing in a bountiful autumn harvest.

"The leaves on the gourds are turning yellow."

"But… It's the middle of winter?"

Whiterun seems to be covered in thick mists that come with the early spring.

A guard walking ahead of us in Ivarstead suddenly stumbles and falls to the ground – not dead but fast asleep. Another one tells us, in a voice drained and deadened, that it's been daytime for over thirty-six hours.

We've only been on the road for a few hours, at most.

It takes two weeks to cover the distance between Nightgate Inn and Ivarstead.

None of these things serve to make me any calmer. The Elder scroll across my back is a heavy burden, heavier still now that I see what hinges on it.

"I don't suppose we can stay the night in Ivarstead and move up the mountain in the morning?" Marcurio asks, leaning heavily on the Wabbajack. The sad face carved out in the wood seems to ask the exact same thing mournfully.

"It's still light. And it will still _be_ light by the time we get to the top." I huff, glancing at the cloudless sky above us, the sun showing no sign of going down anytime soon. "We move up the mountain and rest at High Hrothgar for a few hours, then go see Paarthurnax, aye? We'll be there before you know it."

"Yeah, yeah."

We cross the bridge and take a few steps – and the next thing I know we're in knee-deep snow, with no footsteps behind us and High Hrothgar rising in front of us. Seriously, the offerings chest is only a few feet away.

Marcurio lets out a slightly hysterical cackle, disturbed. "Well, you were right! We really _did_ get here before knowing it!"

"This is highly unusual." I agree blandly, reeling inwardly. Just to be sure, I pat down the scroll on my back, but it hasn't vanished into thin air.

I take another step, and my vision doubles.

 _A man is walking, alone, down the stairs towards me. He doesn't see me but is talking to someone who stands where I am standing right now. The world is bathed in a cold blue, like icy caverns hiding forgotten realms. "Ulfric, son of the Jarl of Windhelm, you say?" The man, I now realize, is Arngeir, younger, with less wrinkles and yet a face full of them as he asks me if I'm alright._

"Dragonborn? Are you unwell?" he asks, and I'm back in the present. My head feels like a dragon stomped on it.

"Fine." I croak out even as my knees buckle underneath me and Marcurio has to rush forwards to prevent me from eating snow.

"No you're not." Marcurio grunts as he moves his arm around me to support my weight and get me into the monastery, Arngeir leading the way and opening the doors for us as I fumble and slip up the stairs, my head pounding in sync with my heartbeat.

"It's what my father did to me," I mumble into his master robes of destruction as he sets me down but I only cling to him tighter. "It gives me… visions. It will pass soon."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

As it turns out, the attack does pass relatively quickly, and I refuse to remain in High Hrothgar for long afterwards even though my lover pleads with me to rest a little.

"After Paarthurnax helps me with the scroll and I find out how to defeat Alduin. I've waited far, far too long. I must do this."

…

The top of the Throat of the World is as frigid as it has always been, uninviting and icy and treacherous, with a dead Word Wall to the side and Paarthurnax meditating, waiting, eternally.

The dragon's milky eyes open at our approach, and though I spot distortions in the light not too far away, I do not let my eyes stray in that direction – it might be a remnant of the visions, or a trick of the light, or yet another sign that the world is crumbling. Or being eaten, I should say.

Paarthurnax sigh brings me out of my thoughts.

"And so, you return at last, Dii Fahdon, with that which you have sought for so long. The Kel – the Elder Scroll. Tiid Kreh…Galos. Time shudders at its touch, as it trembles before the wrath of Alduin. There is no question. You are Doom-Driven, Goraan, but not alone. I sense within you Kogaan Akatosh… the blessings of Akatosh. Go then. Fulfill your destiny and find Stin – your freedom. Take the Scroll to the Time Wound. Do not delay any longer, for Alduin will soon come here."

I nod solemnly at the old dovah, who has helped me with so much along my journey. My eyes stray once more to the strange phenomena of dancing light, curving in directions it should not, whirling hypnotically like leaves carried in a circle by the wind.

A glance at Marcurio gets me a reassuring smile. "I'll be here no matter what." He claims in a low voice, and I smile helplessly back at him before stepping inside the Time Wound and unrolling the Elder Scroll with frozen fingers.

It's almost a relief when the world falls away around me in a vision that does not overlap, cast in red rather than blue. The edges of my vision blur and I cannot bring myself to move, but my headache vanishes like snow before the Alik'r summer sun and my heart remains steady. This vision is warm and comforting, not cold and _unnatural_ and _sick,_ and I relish in it even as I focus on the scene playing out in front of me, unafraid of any in the present stabbing me in the back whilst I am no doubt vulnerable.

The strange, alien symbols of the Elder Scroll are burned onto my retinas, visible like spider threads. A dragon, orange-scaled and proud, roars out a challenge to three Nord warriors – no, two warriors and a mage – who lift their weapons and charge fearlessly. I do not know their names, but I believe they must be the friends Paarthurnax spoke so dearly of – Hakon, Gormlaith, and Felldir. Soon, it lies dead, and the three convene to speak only a few steps away.

It is so strange, to see history further back than even the First Era I hail from. This is the Merethic Era – where Dwemer had barely come into being, if at all. Nevermind most other elven and human races.

"Why does Alduin hang back? We've staked everything on this plan of your, old man." The warrior, one-eyed and fierce and reminding me, oddly enough, of Brynjolf, asks brusquely.

"He will come." Felldir, the mage, states calmly. "He cannot ignore our defiance. And why should he fear us, even now?"

"We've bloodied him well. Four of his kin have fallen to my blade alone this day." The third person, a blonde woman stouter than Mjoll the Lioness calls out, the battle-lust still in her bearing.

They mention Dragonrend, and then my eye falls on the Scroll on Felldir's back. I am not the only one surprised to see it, but the only one to also carry it upon my back.

"Felldir!" the redheaded warrior – Hakon? – Cries, aghast. "We agreed not to use it!"

"I never agreed. And if you are right, I will not need it." Felldir replies dryly, and I cannot suppress a snort. _Mages. Always thinking ten steps ahead._

"No," Hakon agrees, drawing his blade as if to accentuate the statement and taking a deep breath. "We will deal with Alduin ourselves, here and now." His conviction is stronger than rubies, and the other warrior, who must then be Gormlaith, grins savagely.

"We shall see soon enough – Alduin approaches!"

"So be it." Hakon says, almost a whisper, and his eyes are hard but saddened, a quiet, solemn resolve seen in those knowing full well death awaits.

And then the ground and sky, nay – the very world trembles, and Alduin swoops in on his clawed black wings, larger than life and a blot against the sun, drowning out the light with his size and cruelty dripping from his every breath and shift.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, it's like our eyes meet, and I cannot breathe even as I am incapable of stepping back or even shivering at those red, red, eyes, seeking and wishing to see only death and destruction. Chaos. Evil. If there were ever personifications of such things, Alduin would be.

His voice echoes, mighty and dark, and with the ringing in my ears, I cannot hear them.

Gormlaith's call to arms comes as a splash of water in my face. " _Let those that watch from Sovngarde envy us this day_!"

Then the three Shout, the Thu'um they use rattling my very bones even as it ingrains itself into my skull, carving a path through my ears and digging deeper and deeper, filling me with a deep, unnatural loathing even as I know I can never forget the words. The Shout has no place in the Way of the Voice the Greybeards study and I prefer – it is twisted, meant only for Death, and it – it shows. I can feel it behind my navel, a sickening lurch at the thought of having to use it.

Alduin crashes into the ground, enraged and panicked, and in a brilliant, horrifying moment, I _understand._ Empathize with him.

"NIVAHRIIN JOORRE! What have you done? What twisted Words have you created? Tahrodiis Paarthurnax! My teeth to his neck!" He continues to curse and tell the warriors they shall die today, before the fight commences.

One falls, and it is not Alduin. Gormlaith goes, screaming, off the edge of the mountainside after she is flung from the dragon's maw.

Then, the remaining two use the Elder Scroll, and cast Alduin into the flows of time – into the Fourth Era, to become the burden of the last. To become my burden to bear.

"You are banished!" Felldir howls, and it is not a howl of victory.

The world falls quiet. "It worked… You did it…" Hakon gasps, voice aggrieved as his eyes search not for the World Eater but for the edge, to where their third had vanished.

"Yes," and oh, how tired did he sound in that single breath! I couldn't bring myself to hate these people, not for what they did. Not for sending Alduin away, nor for forcing Akatosh into involving me – Last Dragonborn or not.

"The World-Eater is gone… May the spirits have mercy on our souls."

 _I forgive you._

I blink, and the scene disappears. My vision clears and dims before coming back in full – no more strange colors dancing at the edges. I feel the cold bite in my clothes, feel the rustling of the Elder Scroll – not quite paper – against my fingertips. Sounds return to me, and I hear Marcurio shouting at something in the distance.

Black wings unfurl in the midday light, blotting out the sun, and it's like the vision all over again, only now I am the warrior standing in between Alduin and his victory, standing alongside Marcurio and Paarthurnax.

Red eyes meet mine, and this time I do not freeze in terror, nor do I shiver. I merely remember the quiet resolve on Hakon's face, the bloodlust of Gormlaith, and the calm serenity of Felldir in his darkest hours, and _breathe._

Alduin circles above us, voice carrying through the clear air towards us. "My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin!" He calls, first in Dovahzul and then, as if remembering the time I could not speak the dragon tongue, in the common language. As if that would make his taunts more effective. "Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!"

 _As if I will end up there. I shall go to the Void, if Sithis wills it. I have done too much and made too many suffer to see the halls… haven't I?_

Paarthurnax roars in reply, taking to the sky. "LOST FUNT! You are too late, Alduin! Fahdon! Use Dragonrend, if you know it!"

Marcurio, at my side instantly, draws his staff and fires the Wabbajack without pause. The thunderbolt that it fires does little more than annoy the black dragon, but the mage is undeterred, as am I even as I draw my axes. Luckily, I have two of them to call my own this time. I have done with only one for far too long.

Breathe.

 _Breathe._

 _Inhale._

Shout.

"JOOR ZAH FRUL!"

And it burns, hurts like fragments of glass forces through my throat, cutting and painful and wrong – but Alduin falls to the ground, roaring threats and then it's a deadly game of dodging his teeth and tail and Thu'um and fucking _meteor showers_ , hitting where I can until he rises again. Then, I force the Word of Power past my lips, over and over and over until I need to do so no more and every breath is like a death rattle in my chest, my throat feeling like it's torn to shreds from within.

"Meyz Mul, Dovahkiin. You have become strong. But I am AL-DU-IN, Firstborn of Akatosh! Mulaagi Zok Lot! I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else! You cannot prevail against me. I will outlast you… Mortal."

He takes flight, having noticeable difficulties doing so, and sails away, out of reach of my Shouts and out of reach of an exhausted Paarthurnax, bleeding sluggishly from the teeth marks in his shoulder, where wing meets body.

"You truly possess the Voice of a Dovah. Alduin's allies will think twice after this victory." He grumbles appreciatively, settling himself next to the Word Wall. Marcurio slumps down against the stone with a sigh, having resorted to Destruction magic after realizing that the Wabbajack was being uncooperative against Alduin. He uncorks a magica potion and raises an eyebrow when he sees me watching him, jerking his head towards Paarthurnax as if to say ' _I'm tired. Go talk to him._ '

"It was not truly a victory, though. Alduin escaped his end once more." I remind the old dovah, who chuckles. "Niid, this was not the final Krongrah – Victory. But not even the heroes of old defeated Alduin in open combat."

 _I suppose he has a point._

"So what happens now? We need to chase him down – but where'd Alduin flee to?"

"Indeed…" The dragon ponders for a while. "Perhaps… one of his allies could tell us. Motmahus. Though it will not be so easy to… convince one to betray Alduin. The Hofkahsejun… the palace in Whiterun. Dragonsreach was created to capture one of the dovah. One might be trapped there once more, hmm?"

He says it as if convincing a Jarl in the midst of a political crisis to make some room and time to trap a fire-breathing dragon into his wooden palace is a good idea.

"I…Fine. We'll see what the Jarl has to say about it. Hopefully, we'll be able to capture an ally without too much… drama."

Marcurio snorts derisively. "I wouldn't get my hopes up."

My shoulders sag and I resist the urge to groan like a petulant teenager. "I know."

Then: "How would we even get a dragon to Dragonsreach? I don't suppose we can send them a letter?"

Paarthurnax snorts, shaking his large head as if to shake off the snow from his back. Small whips of smoke drift from his nostrils as he turns to me.

"Niid, Goraan. But… you may call upon him."

I raise an eyebrow. "Like… In a Shout?" but the old Dov, blast him, remains stubbornly silent, as if telling me 'you figure it out yourself'.

 _How would a Shout be able to call a dragon? Hmm… Paarthurnax is saying it for a reason. What do I know about the Thu'um? I… project my voice with great force to achieve different effects based on three words…_

 _Three words to make a whole Shout._

 _Paar-Thur-Nax._

 _Sah-Lok-Nir._

 _Mir-Mul-Nir._

 _Dov-Ah-Kiin._

Marcurio grunts as he walks up behind me while I'm thinking and drapes himself over my person like a cat begging for treats or attention.

"I don't mean to whine, but can you have your Dwemer-y contemplating session somewhere warmer?"

I chuckle even as he places his icy hands on my face – still flushed from battle – and lets out an audible groan. Placing my own hands over his, I look back at Paarthurnax, who seems… Fond. A bit confused, perhaps.

"Dovahkiin, Laan Dreh Haalvut Kro… I must ask… Your indulging in this Kro, human sorcerer... You are Zeymahzin? Or perhaps Thur-Aar?"

My brain automatically translates for me after the many sessions in Dovahzul with this very dragon: _Zeymahzin: companion or battle companion. An honored friend or companion, who serves besides someone. Thur: lord, master or king. Aar: slave, servant._

"Niid, Paarthurnax. He is my… That is, we are -" _Hmm, the best translation would be…_

"He is… Dii Ahmul."

Marcurio makes a vague noise of inquiry, but Paarthurnax settles comfortably. "I see. Pogaas Kogaan, Dii Fahdon. Blessings, my friend."

" _What does 'Ahmul' mean?_ " Marcurio whispers into my ear and I swallow at the contrast of his hot breath, feeling myself flush at the older dragon's approval. "Thank you, Paarthurnax. And – getting back to the topic now – Dragon names are Shouts, right?"

He nods, greying wings fluttering in the wind and claws digging into the snow when the weather worsens. "Indeed. And I know one who shall come at your call – no true Dov would turn down the challenge inherent in your calling. They will wish to test your mettle against their Thu'um after today's battle. Listen, and hear his name: Od Ah Viing!"

 _Snow Hunter Winged? Alright then._

 _This is it, isn't it?_

With a strange sort of finality that echoes deep inside my very bones, I know that I will not see Paarthurnax again until Alduin has been defeated. Never again if I die in the attempt. The future is uncertain at the best of times, and now is the time for farewells.

"Thanks for everything, Paarthurnax."

I wish it didn't sound as permanent as it does.

"Best of luck, Fahdon. Go, now, before the skies make traversing the mountain too treacherous. Akatosh guard you."

A feeble smile is the only thing I can manage as I grab Marcurio's hand and turn my back to my draconic friend and companion, to whom I'd spilled even my best-kept secrets.

It has never been harder to walk away.


End file.
